First Contact
by DrakeTheTraveller
Summary: The inner and outer colonies finally stabilized after years of bloody rebellion, the UNSC turns its avaricious gaze to the uncharted depths of space. Ancient secrets unearthed on Reach urge them onward on a quest of discovery, power, and exploration. A small handpicked fleet is gathered for the momentous undertaking, where they will learn something extraordinary. We are not alone.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Before I go into this I'll just ask you guys to bear with me. Yes, First Contact is being rewritten... again. Now please hold your misgivings until the end. I know I have a penchant for rewriting stories, but that's simply because I want to have everything go right. And I felt that the previous iteration, while not terrible, lacked a certain... realism, to it. As I plan this to be a fairly huge undertaking, I want this story to go as perfectly as I can make it. But, I can promise you all that this will be the final draft, no more going back. I'm fully committed to this no matter how it pans out. So please take these changes with a grain of salt. Also I realize I have been absent for some time, but life, work, and college seem to be an excuse man writers use, no matter how true it is. I will do my best to retain a somewhat active presence here but cannot guarantee that will be truthful. Please forgive any future lapses as I am more then likely just busy with work and school.**

 **Also, on a lighter note I want to thank those of you who have stuck around and supported me these past few years, especially so for some of you who I think you know who you are. Every review, fav, and follow have spurred me on in my efforts to write, a suitable kick in the pants to keep me going. And I promise I am not done yet, I will finish a story! By god I will!**

 **Other then that, thanks once more and please enjoy!**

 **Drake**

First Contact

Prologue: Contact

 _Two possibilities exist:_

 _Either we are alone in the universe... or we are not._

 _Both are equally terrifying._

 _-Arthur C. Clarke_

One of the greatest philosophical wars waged in the entirety of humanity's sordid history is on the potential existence of sentient extraterrestrial life. That question has remained unanswered for as long as they have walked the Earth. And once they at last were able to reach out to the stars, they soon learned that space was a very vast and very lonely place.

So they did as they always had done when finding a whole new place to explore. They expanded, thrived, and then tore it apart with warfare before they had even stretched their infantile grasp past the solar system of their origin. The United Nations Space Command was quickly formed to bring about order to a once more war ravaged humanity, the military arm of Earth's Unified Governments. Derived from a coalition of all her member countries, they were ordained with keeping the peace.

And for a time it worked.

The war eventually ended and humanity again turned its focus to the universe at large, bringing about a revitalized wave of colonization. There was peace and there was prosperity. Medical and astronautical technology advanced to the point where all but the most obstinate of diseases had been vanquished and even the common man could afford the price of traveling the stars.

But inevitably their avarice would bring about a new era of conflict.

The outer colonies were an untapped treasure-trove of raw natural resources, resources the inner colonies desperately needed to fuel their intergalactic industrialized economics. Unrest quickly rose as the outer colonies were denied what should have been their rightly allotted political power. And with the widening gap of wealth between the two rapidly diverging territories, war once more unfurled its blood smeared banners, sounding the horn of succession.

The UNSC now found itself fighting its first interstellar conflict, with the very people they had been tasked with protecting. And as the situation increasingly deteriorated with thousands upon thousands losing their lives in the wholly avoidable clash, the questions humanity had ever sought to answer were shelved and promptly forgotten, seemingly never to be answered or again see the light of day.

Time passed... and the UEG was able to once more seize control of its wayward colonies through a grueling campaign, cleansing the taint of rebellion street-by-street, planet-by-planet, till the insurrection had been reduced to little more than small, likeminded factions scattered across a hundred worlds, their tactics adapting to combat a superior foe, now resorting to terrorism and fear mongering.

But they were largely ignored by the majority of the UEG who shifted their collective focus to more outward pursuits. Even with the eight-hundred colonies they presided over, the United Earth Governments wanted more, deciding to readopt their past ideals of expansion and exploration.

Seeing an opportunity to find more of the alien ruins unearthed in a clandestine black site on Reach, the UNSC agreed to create a joint task force with their progenitors in the goal of exploring the uncharted sectors of the galaxy.

And so a small fleet of military and exploratory vessels gathered over Earth, selecting the best and the brightest humanity had to offer to set out on this historic expedition to journey farther than any human had ever gone before. Only a few knew of the duel purposes of this intergalactic excursion. As far as most were concerned, the military was there to offer protection to the scientists and the select assembly of colonists who had volunteered to be a part of the voyage.

Once amassed and loaded with supplies, the newly commissioned 1st Joint Expeditionary Fleet launched, with great fanfare and ceremony, the inspiring symbol of a new brighter era in humanity's future.

A year into the expedition, and humankind would at last have the answers to the questions they had all but forgotten.

* * *

 **UNSC** ** _Midsummer's Solace,_** **inner edge of the Perseus Arm**

 **October 20** **th** **, 2524**

 **13 months, post-exodus.**

 **9 months into uncharted space.**

Four pairs of hostile eyes stared each other down across the circular table's expanse, each set belonging to a man dressed in ebony, clean pressed military fatigues. Cards lay scattered about the tabletop in small, disorganized piles arranged haphazardly before each individual, yet only two of the four had a heap of rectangular plastic wafers to accompany their cards.

The air was stale and lifeless, a deafening, uneasy silence looming over the deserted barracks.

One of the men, a pale skinned, blindingly red haired fellow, chanced a glance at the cards clutched tightly in his hands. Grinning, he transferred his intent gaze to the man just opposite of his seat, a dead serious glint to his eyes.

The other soldier, a burly blonde with tanned skin and wary blue eyes, silently waited for him to speak.

"Do you have any... sixes?" He demanded with a correspondingly grave tone.

For a brief moment, the silence was broken by a stifled fit of laughter from the other two tablemates.

In response, the blonde haired man leaned forwards with an agonizing slowness, his expression utterly blank as he responded in kind.

"Go. Fuck. Yourself."

The red haired man glared at the blonde, lips twitching ever so slightly. Facing the wholly unbreakable wall of severity emanating from his companion across the table, he could not keep a straight face any longer.

His façade shattered and the young man let out a contrite chuckle, dismissively tossing his cards across the tabletop with a defeated grumble. "You know what, fuck you Liam. Take your damned credits you stone faced bastard!"

Smirking in triumph, the blonde soldier dropped his cards and reached across the table, raking the other man's currency over to his side. And in doing so increased the mass of his growing horde. Shaking his head in mock sympathy, the grinning man released a low bout of laughter.

The other blonde of the table spoke. "I told you Tim. It was foolish to challenge The Master of Go Fuck Yourself."

"And now we lost our week's pay because of you, you shitehead!" The last, scrawny member of the table growled, slapping an angry palm on the table with a bony thwack.

Tim raised his hands defensively. "Hey, come on guys! It's not my damned fault this asshole has no sense of humor." He gestured rudely towards Liam, whose smug grin had yet to pass. "And you're one to talk, Martin, you were the first to fold." The young red head's accusing gaze landed on the Irishman who only shrugged innocently in reply. "Besides, this was a shitty game anyways. Most normal people play poker you know."

The blonde who lost, scoffed. "Bah, poker, that game's overrated."

"Really, Cullen? And this one is any better?" He demanded, receiving no response from the one under his ire.

"It is if you win." Liam cut in with a self-satisfied smirk, sweeping the mass of credits off the table and into his cupped hands, quickly stuffing them into a pants pocket and out of sight.

At that the fiery redhead rounded on the sandy blonde victor. "Yeah? It seems like you are as much a master at this dumb game as the guys told me. What the hell is with you man? You didn't budge once. Where's your damn sense of humor?"

Tim still remembered how this farce of a card game started. For the past month, they had peen pestering him to join the little game nights they hosted afterhours at the end of their duty roster. And at first he had been admittedly interested. Usually gambling was frowned upon on most military vessels, the _Midsummer's Solace_ being no exception. Yet it seemed Liam, Martin, and Cullen had found a work around with this bizarre take on Go Fish. It also seemed as if all this had been just a way to swindle him out of his credits.

But he couldn't see why. They were nearly a year's journey by slipspace from the nearest UNSC outpost, even further from a place where they could actually spend their hard earned money. This far into the voyage, and the fleet's network of underground merchants had all but run out of supplies worth purchasing, even the colonists aboard their ships had little to offer, and those that did still have things worth the effort held them at exorbitant prices.

Seriously, three-hundred credits for a single pack of cigarettes was ludicrous!

Remembering this, Tim focused his re-inflamed glare at the smug blonde across from him. He should have known better than to try and gamble against Liam. The soldier had a notorious fleet-wide reputation for robbing men and women blind. The game had appeared harmless at first but in the minutes that followed after it started he realized it was anything but. That man was a blank faced bastard to be sure when it came to cards.

In response to his previous inquiry, Liam offered only an infuriatingly sly grin as he kicked his chair out and stood up, a noticeable jingle to his BDU's pockets. "It has been a pleasure as always gentlemen. Now if you would excuse me, I have some credits to stash."

The three soldier's watched their fellow leave, a muttered comment under Tim's breath voicing all of their opinions.

"Asshole..."

* * *

A gentle thrum filled the cabin as lights flickered dimly into existence, filling the cramped quarters with a low, dull glow and revealing the decidedly overcrowded space. A small retractable steel desk stood clamped tightly to the ground, a crowded mess of papers and reports arrayed across it, now illuminated under the recently ignited lamp. Two doors faced one another on opposite sides, one leading to a personal lavatory and the other to the crew deck just outside. To the far side, a minimalistic, compact bed was rooted firmly to the bulkhead and under its paper thin covers a man slept.

With this new wave of light came sound as a pleasantly female voice filled the air, stirring the cabin's slumbering occupant.

 _"Calendar Date, October 21_ _st_ _, 2524, 3:45 AM shipboard time. The weather outside is currently a balmy -298.36 Celsius and the void is as silent as ever. Good morning, Admiral Matthias."_

Awakened by the voice filtering through his quarter's speakers, the middle-aged fleet officer groggily shifted the covers from his body and swiveled to partially seated position on his bed. Rubbing a callused palm over his stubble, he gazed up into the empty air.

"Good morning to you to, Ash. Though, to be precise, I don't think waking up at four o'clock constitutes as morning."

 _"To be precise, Admiral, it is exactly 14 minutes and twenty-three point zero-five seconds from 4:00."_ The A.I quipped.

Having endured this type of back and forth for the last nine and a half months, Matthias no longer found its irrelevancy to be a source of amusement.

"Ash..." He grunted once in warning, drawing a curled up fist under his eyes still weighted by his interrupted slumber.

"Right, shutting up." The feminine A.I snapped quickly before going silent once more, much to the Admiral's relief.

Groaning in exhaustion, Matthias fully rose to his feet and lumbered to his lavatory, spending a curt ten minutes to quickly hash out a shower and a shave.

As he ran a razor across his cheek, he gazed into the mirror, a tired, worn down reflection staring him in the eyes, an image he imagined, that the rest of the fleet carried as well.

He still recalled the onset of their expedition, hard to believe that had been over a year ago, four months to leave sovereign UNSC space, and nine out drifting through the uncharted void. Not much had happened in that time, anything truly worth noting had transpired in the first segment spent traveling through controlled space. Just a handful of minor skirmishes with insurrectionist pirates, overall nothing to worry about with their heavy military presence.

Matthias had never figured that he would be placed in charge of a joint civilian and military expedition, still new to the high echelons of command, having spent only a few months to settle with his rank before HIGHCOM dumped this grave responsibility on him. He was unafraid to admit that it had taken him more than a quick minute to get a handle on his odd positon as acting military commander and quasi governor of their little colonist brigade.

But then he supposed they all knew what they had signed up for, a conceivably permeant posting, with the high likelihood of never coming back. There was no way to know what awaited them out here in the depthless expanse of unexplored space, what manner of dangers they might uncover.

Then of course there were the colonists to consider. He had been one of the many fleet personnel against bringing a baggage train of vulnerable assets on what was essentially a blind foray into the void. However their concerns had been waived aside. _'They can take care of themselves.'_ HIGHCOM had expressed to him. And it was true, each of the phoenix series colony vessel retrofits were well-equipped, with firepower equivalent to a picket of destroyers, bolstered by a sizeable marine garrison and mechanized divisions. Each ship had enough military assets to provide an effective defense, and offense if necessary. Even so Matthias still had his misgivings. There were just too many unknown variables when civilians were involved.

And they already had enough unknowns to contend with.

Still, they needed the hydroponics bays and industrial forges those ships carried if they were to remain self-sustaining for the duration of their expedition. That and those civilians were a potential recruitment pool to bolster the fleet's ranks if a situation so dire developed.

And so the colonists had become a vital, even integral part of their foreseeable operations. In the event they found a planet, or planets, suitable for colonization - one of the primary objectives set down by the UEG - they would be responsible for raising the first UNSC outpost. Communications with the rest of humanity would be few and far between, and such a stronghold would become paramount to their hopefully continued success.

But that was all wishful thinking in the end. Nine months of scouring the untapped portions of the galaxy had turned up nothing but inhospitable, barren worlds and colossal open expanses of nothingness, no signs of forerunner ruins, or any signs of life for that matter. At this point the scientists were growing restless, as was the rest of the fleet.

Tensions brewed between civilian and military personnel, so many clustered together for so long was bound to breed resentment. And Matthias only hoped they found something worthy of note before everything fell apart. It was an irony he could do without, being undone from within.

"Ouch..." He hissed, distracted hands having pulled the razor the wrong way to nick his chin. The Admiral watched as the newly formed crimson drop of blood rolled down his throat, quickly wiping it up with a wad of tissues he grabbed from the counter.

Matthias chuckled at an idle thought.

Hopefully that would be the extent of blood shed throughout this trip. Though, he had an uneasy premonition that it would not hold true.

Exiting the bathroom, now donned in a fresh uniform, Matthias moved towards his door and quickly stepped outside. Almost immediately he paused in surprise, finding someone waiting just outside his door.

"John? Up so early?" He greeted his XO in mild bemusement, the young man standing just to the side, datapad in one hand, cup of steaming coffee in the other.

John was a good kid, graduated from Reach's naval academy with full honors and one of his best choices so far. Matthias had only been able to handpick the men and women aboard his flagship. The rest had been volunteers for what was to most likely be a one way trip. That being said, he was pleasantly surprised with how many did. Then again, most were running from something or other, debts or their own troubled past. It took a certain type of individual to opt venturing out like this. Even with his duties Matthias had free time in spades, more than enough to take an occasional gander on who exactly he had under his command, convicted felons, debtors, the dishonorably discharged, not exactly the cream of the crop of humanity.

Even so, they all were here willingly, and that accounted for a great deal in his eyes. After all, it was indeed true.

They were all running from something.

"Thought you might need a little pick me up, to help you get moving, Sir." John offered the steaming mug with a youthful grin.

Matthias gratefully accepted the ceramic cup, taking a sip and smiling in appreciation as the bitter flavor and aromatic scent of his most favored of the coffee beans. "Colombian dark roast, I don't know how you keep finding this stuff. But as long as you keep bringing it, I won't ask questions."

"Of course, Sir. Ready to skim the morning's reports?" The young spectacled man held out the other object in his hand.

Nodding, Matthias appropriated the datapad and sipped from his energizing beverage as he scanned the newest updates from the rest of the fleet, scrolling through the digital documents with an indolent finger.

As suspected not much had changed. All ships were performing at optimal efficiency and otherwise from a few understandable scraps between irritable crewmembers, the status quo remained unaffected.

The only noticeably new development was their scheduled drop out of slipspace, set to commence in a few hours. Due to their exploratory nature, the fleet could not enter cryo for extended period of times, and the distance between jumps was short and frequent. They dropped out of slipspace every few days to scan their surroundings, an incredibly taxing and menial process that was sure to set even the most amiable of men on edge.

At the last arranged drop point, the prowler contingent attached to the fleet pinged something interesting on their long range sensors, a blip of mysterious energy with an unknown point of origin.

That might have been enough to peek his interest if not for the hundreds of false readings they had already investigated and debunked; radiation emissions from dying stars, particularly active asteroid fields, in the end, all wastes of time. He doubted this would be any different. Still, precautions had to be made, the fleet needed to be prepared.

It was nigh impossible to coordinate mid-slipspace jump, but that would be unnecessary seeing as the fleet was already positioned for deployment. Once they exited slipspace it would be fairly simple to investigate and discredit another anomaly.

Matthias yawned loudly, his jaw popping as it stretched. Honestly, he had expected more excitement from this expedition. A small childish part of him had been eager to explore, discover new worlds, the wonders of the galaxy, and maybe even find alien life. But it was becoming brutally apparent to him that no such life existed. Countless lightyears of dead space had nullified that childlike anticipation. It seemed humanity presided over a lifeless galaxy, whether that boded ill or well remained to be seen.

Shoving the datapad into the crook of his arm, Matthias headed set a slow pace for the bridge for what no doubt be another tedious and droll day.

* * *

Xavier could not help but feel disenfranchised. When he had signed up for the ultimate life changing journey he would ever take, months of tedium and banal conversation was not what he had expected. After all, Doctor Halsey herself had recommended him for this mission as their lead xenobiologist.

Now though, nearly a year into their journey with nothing to show for it, he was beginning to suspect that she merely wanted to rid herself of a glorified intern. Sadly, that was what his job had become onboard _The Prometheus_. He was a scientist with several PHD's in sciences most people could not even pronounce, and he was slotted as the ship's _'Technical Advisor'_ or in layman's terms, the IT guy. All his knowledge and expertise denoted him little more than a position as the guy who fixed the ship's computers, a task their A.I could easily preform offhandedly.

Even then he supposed he could not really complain, at least he had not been as unlucky as Phillis, the bioengineer had been reduced to monitoring the plants on they hydroponics deck. She was no doubt just as unhappy as he was, if not more so.

It was amusing that these colonists thought that just because the scientists had all these degrees, that they could take on these odd jobs. But what was perhaps most ironic, was that their assumption was not only true, but the extant to what they were able to accomplish, misconstrued technicians and gardeners.

With nothing to research, to study, no way to utilize their talents, this was what they were reduced to, trawling through code and digging through dirt, like some overpriced handymen. He was willing to admit that he might have romanticized their task, but he had hoped for more, a little excitement, a little mystery. Right now he would take anything that might shatter the monotony he trudged through, literally anything.

But it seemed as if the tedium would persists for the foreseeable future.

Grimly accepting what had become his lot in life, Xavier transferred his attention back to the faulty holo display on the ship's bridge.

* * *

Raising an idle hand to his face, Liam let loose with a might yawn, jaded eyes scanning the deserted corridor for any signs of "quote on quote", unscrupulous activity, the thought eliciting a droll roll of his sapphire irises. As if there would be anything of the like.

Activity of any kind aboard the _Midsummer's Solace_ was reduced to little more than the banal chatter of naval ratings and the faint hum of the ship's fusion engines. The most exciting thing to happen since the commencement of their journey had been a very brief, unexciting scuffle between a few ensigns and marines.

And that had been six months ago.

Since then every day charted the same stifling routine, wake up, follow the strictly scheduled duty roster, eat, sleep, rinse and repeat.

At this point, Liam was aching for any kind of action, even breaking up another brawl would at least be something. Hell, he could even go for some shipboard espionage. Unfortunately, it seemed no insurrectionist spies had managed to slip on before they departed Earth's orbit. ONI had thoroughly screened every single person that signed up for this crazy ass mission.

The only reprieve that broke the boredom of routine came in the form of the three men he had attached himself to, Martin, Tim, and Cullen. With the occasional game and chat, the weariness became somewhat bearable. Liam had made it a point to avoid people after the siege of _Sigmus II_ , but after the first few months he hesitantly caved in.

All in all, they weren't a bad lot, yet neither were they members of the Blood Dragons. The thought of his fellow ODSTs was enough to darken his mood, bringing an ugly scowl to his face that intimidated a passing ensign, the young women scurrying quickly out of sight.

After _Sigmus_ , The Blood Dragons had been so heavily depleted that their entire regiment had been forcefully disbanded, scattering the few survivors across other ODST units throughout UNSC space.

Sighing once more, Liam readjusted the MA37 in his grip, resting the bullpup rifle against his breastplate, finger tapping impatiently on the trigger. He had not joined the navy out of some zealous patriotism. It was family tradition, dating from as far back as the Rainforest Wars. Every man in his family had served faithfully and with distinction. The Callahan name was well-known at the Corbula Military Academy on _Circinus IV_ , quite an impressive feat for a family of rural farmers from _Harvest_.

A voice emanated from the corridor's speakers.

 _"All hands to duty stations. Ten minutes to real space."_

Seemed as if the fleet was preparing for the weekly drop out of slipspace, Liam somewhat looked forwards to these instances, the few times that anything worth noting happened. Although on the last one, all they found were a few dead rocks floating in the void. Still, it was a nice to see something other then the absolute darkness of slipstream space.

Even though he set himself on the career path of a navy man, Liam despised traveling through galaxy. The only thing separating him from being boiled and simultaneously frozen to death as he asphyxiated on the lack of oxygen, was the meters of Titanium-A battleplate of the ship's hull. And with knowledge like that it was no wonder he hated it. That was why he had chosen to be a helljumper, to be shot like a bullet towards a planet's surface was the fastest way to get off the ship. He just wished he would get a chance to do just that.

It was a shame to put all of this military power to waste. A handful of corvettes, three destroyers, six frigates, four cruisers, a carrier and a supercarrier, it was enough might to subjugate an entire system. He still could not believe that HIGHCOM had been willing to part with such a number of ships, though from what he gathered so fat, these had been slated for decommission anyways. More than half the vessels of the fleet had to undergo extensive retrofitting mid-journey, whole sections of design had been years, even decades out of date.

If not for the foundries on the colony ships, he imagined many of the fleet ships would have fallen apart by now. Liam wished he could visit one of those vessels. He heard they had real food onboard, not the dehydrated nutrient rations the cooks of the _Solace's_ wardroom tried to repeatedly convince him was authentic black angus.

At this point, it would be nice to interact with some civilians, though many a frustrated man had hoped to find some relief as well. Which was perhaps the reason military personnel were forbidden from making the journey over. They were here to ensure the safety of the colonists, not mingle with the women.

Another reminder from the speaker's informed him that they had five minutes left till they exited slipspace. And Liam could not help but feel underwhelmed by the announcement. It was just another marker in their static routine. Warp in, examine a chunk of space, and warp out, business as usual. It was nothing new and after the first few bouts of excitement, it had become just as mundane as the rest of the voyage.

Various idle thoughts running through his head, Liam weathered the last five minutes in silence, the corridor as empty as when he had initially took position outside the armory. That ensign had been the first person he had seen in the last four hours.

The lone soldier felt the deck shift subtly underneath him, a sign he had come to recognize as the _Solace_ entering real space. Idly, he wondered what it was they might find this time. He had bet Cullen thirty credits it would be another lifeless asteroid field and he was looking forward to claiming another successful wager.

Liam didn't know what he was going to do with all his winnings, perhaps once they set up the colony - if they ever did - he might see if the colonists had anything worth hawking. He had heard down the grapevine that some of them had brought old movies, along with a bunch of other dated paraphernalia. Liam was eager to see if they had an old favorite of his, still remembering when he, along with his father and younger brother had watched the classic sci-fi flick, Enemy Mine.

He chose that moment to reminisce the good old days when he was suddenly thrown off his feet, his skull cracking painfully against the bulkhead behind him.

Dazed and confused, the soldier stumbled to his feet as the deck shuddered once more underneath him, far too violent to be the usual adjustment of thrusters. A pit formed in his stomach as he recognized what this signified, having felt it many times before, yet never having considered they would have need of it.

Evasive maneuvers.

True to call, the speaker thundered into being with none of the previous commonplace regularity.

 _"All hands to action stations, this is not a drill!"_ There was a trace of obvious panic in the operator's tone, the man nearly in hysterics, and that worried Liam greatly. In all the fleet actions he had participated in, never had a comms officer allowed terror to leak into his tone.

All at once, Liam was barraged by an endless series of his own panic inducing thoughts. They were in the middle of nowhere, literally lightyears away from the closest sign of life. So what in the nine hells had happened? Were they under attack, and if so, by whom?

He nearly collapsed again as the deck heaved violently with the faint groan of abused metal. With this third time, Liam decided to shove his questions away in favor of doing his job. If they were under attack , as hard as that might be to believe, he needed to get to the deck's emergency command station to receive orders and hopefully find out just what in the fuck was happening.

Grimly clutching his rifle, he set down the corridor at a heavy jog, one thing certain in his mind.

He wasn't bored anymore.

* * *

The bridge was a maelstrom of chaos, a chorus of panicked voices issuing from fearful throats as unformed bodies dashed back and forth in a disorganized jumble, trying to restore some sense of order. Hastily barked orders from comms officers filled the cluttered air as they tried desperately to organize the fleet.

Matthias watched all of this in his own wordless bafflement, eyes quickly turning to regard the holo pedestal beside his chair, gravity tugging on him as the engines of the colossal supercarrier heaved, trying to bring the enormous ship around.

"Ash what exactly am I seeing here?" He hoped that an A.I might be able to give him the answer he was urgently searching for. "Because I must be seeing things."

The holo projector on the pedestal flickered to life, a short digitized avatar depicting a blue woman swathed in ancient Greek clothing manifesting to his left. The surprisingly expressive visage of the holographicly rendered female mirrored his consternation.

 _"Admiral, what you, or rather_ _ **we**_ _are seeing, is no fabrication._ _There are indeed eighty-six unregistered contacts several hundred thousand kilometers outside of maximum engagement range."_

Matthias was hard-pressed to find a response for that.

 _"Make that eighty-five."_ The A.I interjected, a brief flash of light flickering outside the bridge's armaglass windows.

"Ash, get me a tactical overlay of the system ASAP." The Admiral ordered with far more placidity then he had expected of himself given the situation.

Almost as he spoke those words, the holotank at the center of the bridge burst into light, rendering an imprecise view on the absurdity occurring out in the void.

Hurriedly leaving his chair, Matthias approached the real-time display, disbelieving eyes trying to absorb what he was witnessing. Eighty-five... _vessels,_ were marked as yellow blotches on the tactical chart. That was eighty-five unknowns.

And as he watched one of those blips suddenly fade out of existence, he realized something that only compounded his already mounting fears.

Not only had they stumbled upon what appeared to be an... _alien race,_ the thought still hard for his mind to grasp, but they had found one at war, possibly with itself or... another, battling overhead some desert world. They could not be human, even from this range he was able to somewhat make out the hulls. Matthias knew every design of every ship currently produced by UNSC shipyards, and not one of these matched any known configuration.

As he studied the map in an attempt to place just exactly what he was to do, a jolt of shock suddenly bolted down his spine. A green dot met his vision, only a handbreadth away from the swarm of unknowns on the strategic overlay, nearly on top of the planet these apparent aliens fought over.

 _"Admiral, Lancer-1's slipspace drive dropped it out of position!"_ Ash informed him of something he was already blatantly aware of.

Matthias spat a bitter curse, damning the inaccuracy of their Shaw-Fujikawa drives. No matter the meticulous calculations undergone pre-jump, the precision of their translight engines was laughable. Ships could exit slipspace several hundred kilometers out of sync, as was the unfortunate case with _Lancer-1_. While the rest of the fleet was scattered in similar fashion, they were still approximately within range of each other.

But the corvette had been left stranded. He could see the little green dot as it frantically tried to approach the safety of the fleet, the captain no doubt burning out the engines. But they were just too far away.

 _"Multiple contacts are approaching Lancer-1 on an intercept course!"_

Still in disarray, the fleet could do nothing but watch to see what would happen next. A small force of yellow dots closed in on Lancer-1... and the green blip symbolizing the corvette suddenly and violently winked out of existence.

"We've lost contact with Lancer-1." A sensors officer called out quietly, his low tone breaking the silence that had loomed over the bridge.

A pang of sadness welled in Matthias's heart, and the Admiral braced himself against the holotank, a heavy sigh expelling from his lungs. The situation was developing just as fast as it was deteriorating. He was not sure what happened, but the corvette had most likely been destroyed.

"Your orders... Admiral?"

Matthias looked up from the holographic display to his XO, the young man looking towards him for guidance, just like the rest of the crew, the rest of the fleet. And with that he solidified his resolve. He could not afford to dwell on what had occurred, there was simply no time for it. What they needed was to form a solid response and a fast one at that. A portion of the unknown contacts were reconfiguring to face his fleet.

He knew not what they stumbled upon, what manner of aliens they discovered. But he did know what they had become.

"Ash..." He spoke with a low tone of resignation as the swath of yellow blips on the map flashed red.

"Sound general quarters."


	2. Chapter 2

First Contact

Chapter 1: Retaliation

Everybody had bad days; it was an unavoidable fact of life. However, after his overall brand of bad luck for the past few months, Fox suspected that whatever deity presided over the universe sought to personally give him as many was feasibly possible in an attempt to break some kind of cruel record.

Everything had started going downhill after the war with the aparoids. He lost his father's ship which he had not even had the chance to pay off yet, and nearly the lives of his team in the process. General Pepper had been forcefully retired from the injuries he sustained and he lost Peppy, as the aging hare took his old friend's place. Starfox had nearly been put out of work, most of their earnings from the war had been needed just to get themselves a new ship to call home, an outdated CDF carrier that Slippy had spent the rest of their credits trying to just make space worthy once more.

Then, to compound on their misfortune, Venom broke the ceasefire not three months after the war with an unprovoked attack on Fichina, destroying the garrison and capturing the frozen world for some unknown reason. Since that moment, they had relentlessly harassed CDF vessels and nearly succeeded in taking Zoness from them, waging an aggressive crusade against the weakened corneria forces in a nearly unstoppable tide that threatened to consume the entire system.

Unable to sustain such a desperate campaign against a seemingly strengthened Venom, the newly inaugurated General Peppy had hoped to end it once and for all with a strike at the heart of their growing empire, assembling nearly every functioning vessel left under their control in a massive military undertaking.

Yet less than a day before the assault was to be launched, Venom had attacked, apparently aware of Peppy's plan. Jumping in System with an overwhelming powerful force, leaving the stunned CDF defenders hopelessly outnumbered. The resulting clash was waged with numbing desperation as they battled for their lives.

A battle, Fox was reminded as the carrier's bridge shuddered, that was still being fought.

"ROB, get me a lock on that Venomian destroyer, full broadside! Slippy, get me a connection with our team on the ground! I want a status update! How close are they to the extraction point?" The vulpine barked out his orders as the carrier quaked from another direct hit, sparks erupting from the ceiling as a panel overloaded under the strain. At that moment he greatly wished he still had the Great Fox. This ship was a dim comparison to the mighty dreadnaught. With it, their situation would not have been so grim.

As the two members of his crew still onboard the ship hastily carried out his orders, Fox glanced out the bridge's window at the chaotically unraveling void war. They had lost virtually a third of their combined forces in the opening minutes of the sudden attack as they tried to organize the fleet, leaving their already wholly outnumbered forces to continue in a frantic fighting withdrawal. Most of their remaining vessels were trying to hold the Venomians back long enough so they could extract the soldiers they had on the ground. A process complicated by the invading forces Venom had slipped through their piecemeal AA defenses to harass the withdrawing infantry and armor.

Papetoon had been the center of their now defunct plan, a place to station their consolidating forces. As such, most of the combatants to be used in the ground assault had been planetside, preparing to embark on the vessels in orbit. And they very well could not abandon them, especially as half of Fox's team was down there. Caught off guard, the crew had been scattered before the assault. Falco and Fay were the only ones he could call on for escort duty. Both Krystal and Miyu were stranded on the ground, their arwings sitting uselessly in births on the carrier. The two women had been seeing about grabbing any spare parts they could before the strike so Slippy could keep their ships going. Without the money necessary to keep their arwings repaired and outfitted, they had resorted to searching elsewhere for their needs, using surplus supplies given to them by the CDF.

Regrettably, this left them ill-equipped to handle the developing situation. All Fox wanted at that moment was to get every member of his team back safe and sound, a want that would only grow more infeasible as time passed, for time was a luxury they could not afford.

As it was, they would need a miracle to get out of this shit storm.

The destroyer ROB targeted imploded, whittled down by a concentration of fighters and CDF cruisers, giving Fox some measure of satisfaction that the fight was not entirely one-sided. They might have been outnumbered, but damn did they give as they got. Venom would have no easy victory today. Not if he could help it.

"ROB, switch to prow plasma batteries… to target… that…." The vulpine drew to a bewildered stop, his unfinished order caught in his mouth as he watched a strange anomaly manifest itself overhead of the planet, its bluish violet hue suddenly exploding into existence. He could only describe it as a swirling blue maelstrom suddenly bursting into reality, some kind of roughly circular vortex of cerulean energies. From his carrier's position, Fox saw something that he could hardly believe. The abrupt energy formation was almost completely two-dimensional, almost like a doorway… or a portal.

Likewise as his orders halted in his drying throat, so did that of both the CDF and the Venomian fleet as they regarded this unexpected development, bringing the battle to a temporary standstill. This was an unprecedented event, perhaps some sort of spatial storm?

Unexpectedly, the disc like anomaly flickered and the edges of the glowing formation contorted, slowly disgorging something from its depths. Shocked, Fox realized some kind of spaceship had exited the strange void storm, a vessel unlike anything Lylat has ever seen.

The vulpine studied its unfamiliar gunmetal grey hull and rigidly quadrilateral design with a fresh upwelling of uncertainty and fear. But, he could not help but notice its small size, not even the length of a CDF cruiser. Not that it brought him any peace of mind.

Fox had never encountered its like before, nor its unusual method of transit. The vessel was completely and utterly alien. And it was that word that terrified him the most. Alien. Unknown. Fox vividly recalled the war with the aparoids that had nearly wiped out their civilization, a tragic event not even a year in passing. The thought of another incident like the aparoid crisis would be enough to panic even the most stalwart of minds.

Then, just as quickly as the portal appeared, it winked out of existence, leaving the alien ship to float ominously in the void. Time seemed to run to a standstill, all eyes focused on the foreign vessel as it hovered portentously in the black. Then, without warning, a blue light flashed into existence behind it as the small craft hastily tried to correct its course, burning fuel away from both factions.

Perhaps whoever they were, they had not been expecting to drop out in front of two obviously battling fleets. And the more Fox considered it, the more he suspected it of being some kind of exploratory vessel. That would explain its diminutive size and sudden arrival. But that made little sense to begin with. And Fox's stressed mind tried to hastily disseminate the possibilities this sudden arrival portended, his thoughts overloaded by the sudden influx of unanticipated data.

"F-Fox, what is that?"

At last, Slippy had found his voice to speak, the amphibian eyeing the alien ship with a healthy level of fear.

"I don't know, Slip." He replied, all thoughts on battle temporarily forgotten.

Yet it seemed the Venomians were not of the same mind, a flash on the carrier's senses alerted him to the repositioning of a squadron of their starfighters… on a direct intercept course with the alien spacecraft.

Realizing what they intended to do, Fox felt a jolt of terror race down his spine. With no time to explain, he slapped the comms device on his chair. "Falco, don't let those fighters reach that ship!" The idiots! They intended to destroy the unknown craft, either unaware, or what was most likely, uncaring of the possible gravity of such an action. It was just like them, to meet uncertainty with violence.

Yet Falco was positioned too far away and the venomian fighters were too fast.

Fox watched in growing dismay as the alien vessel's engines glowed brighter, obviously in a desperate bid to outrun the hostile craft. Its hull burst into action as chains of golden light raced across the void, striking down a portion of the incoming strike fighters with pinpoint accuracy, yet there were too many for its admirably powerful defenses to repel. And with horrified eyes, the vulpine watched the venomian ships release their payloads.

The wave of smart bombs crashed against the alien vessel's unprotected hull, the destructive force of the numerous venomian missiles buckling the thick plating as the strike crashed into its aft. Perhaps hitting some vital systems, the entire rear end of the extraterrestrial spacecraft exploded in a blinding flash of light, the fatally wounded vessel listing heavily to its side, a series of secondary explosions tearing ugly gaps in its hull as it vented billowing gusts of silvery atmosphere into the unforgiving void, as if replicating the last breath of a dying soul.

With terminal deliberateness, the ship inexhaustibly sunk downwards, pulled in by Papetoon's intense gravitational field, where it would crash against the desert world's surface. Yet, Fox could see small puffs of smoke as tiny pods escaped the dying vessel.

Then, as if in some form of divine reprisal the sensors array onboard the carrier shrieked into activity, sounding the arrival of over a dozen unknown signatures. Fox's maw flopped open in dreaded disbelief at the sight, as a wave of similar ruptures in space flickered into being at the edge of local space, disgorging a fleet of immense, unrecognizable spacecraft. The ships were utterly massive, colossal vessels dwarfing anything in both the CDF's and Venom's arsenal. Unlike the previous one that had met its ill-fated end, these were clearly made for one purpose, to wage war, steel grey hulls and looming barrels mounted on prows crowded their local space, a host of heavy-set utilitarian warships unlike anything seen before.

And it was clear they intended to fulfill their purpose as the fleet of alien dreadnaughts ponderously pulled away from the edge of the system on a direct course for the two fleets, launching a swarm of what could only be interceptors, a swarming cloud of strike craft.

As the alien force bore down on them, Fox shook his head fretfully, nearly driven speechless at the sight.

"What have they done?"

* * *

"Admiral, all captains are requesting an update on the rules of engagement."

Matthias studied the holotank, his eyes searching for an answer to that dangerous riddle. Rules of engagement indeed! What did that mean when one was pressed into a war with an alien race of unknown origin, or two apparent races for the matter? The only thing he knew to be certain was that the standard ROE would not help him here, and that such a hostile action as they had received could not go without retaliation. These aliens had destroyed one of the ships under his command, without provocation. He could not ignore that, whether it may have been a misunderstanding or clear ill intent. There was no room for conjecture here. He had to make decisions on what the facts appeared to be. Alien forces had struck down one of his ships with apparent, blatant ill intent, and reprisal was the only appropriate response.

Yet worries assailed him nonetheless. Should they attempt to make contact? That appeared to be what would make sense as the apt course of action. Yet as he watched a section of the battling aliens disengage and move to what was obviously an attack position, he speculated that they wished not to talk and that option had never been on the table to start with.

"Ash, any suggestions?" He turned to the A.I's avatar hopefully. Surely she would know what to do.

Digital hands on hips, the holographic woman frowned. "Well, I sent the customary first contact package over all known frequencies, but there was no response. They might not operate using any similar radio waves or any that we might know of. They might not understand it, or maybe they just don't care. There are just too many variables, Admiral."

Ash enjoyed the pursuit of knowledge as did most if not all and so by default, despised the lack of it. And as it stood now, they had exactly nothing to use. If there was ever a time where they would have to literally fly blind, this would be it.

"Not as helpful as I had hoped." Matthias added his own frown to the growing pool shared by the crew on the bridge.

"There is however, one small shred of good news, Sir. I am picking up several distress beacons in close proximity to another somewhere on the planetoid's surface. It would seem some of Lancer-1's crew survived. How long that remains true on the other hand, remains up to debate."

"Great news, but once more not helpful. I need viable information and I needed it yesterday." He gestured to the tactical map, at the alien forces they approached. Longswords had already been launched and the colony ships were secure at the center of the fleet, protected by a majority of their fighters and the destroyers, leaving the remaining forces to offensive operations. "I need to know who and or what we are dealing with, and how my captains should respond." He could worry about the survivors when he could afford the time to do so.

As an A.I, Ash could multitask at an inhuman level. As it was now, she had already started a preliminary analysis on the aliens, studying ship design, composition, and even color. And in this quick examination, she identified two separate factions, having labeled each as Alpha and Beta respectively. And from her studies she was able to recognize similar fleet tactics as that the UNSC employed, though the Alpha aliens utilized it far more aggressively. If she was to speculate, she would assume them to be the attackers. They had also the ones to attack Lancer-1 and therefore had been designated as priority one by default.

In general it appeared that the Beta aliens were not the instigators as their fleet had assumed what would for in all intents and purposes be a protective stance in orbit around the planet. And as of yet they had not designated a portion of their forces against them, either wishing to not appear aggressive or unable to shift the resources to do so.

For the moment she had yet to crack the communications signals these aliens used, their protective algorithms simply incomprehensible. It would take time for her to get an understanding of even their most rudimentary systems, a challenge that admittedly peaked her interest. She could have worked faster on a cypher, but the possible threat of alien artificial intelligences such as herself rendered her actions slow and innocuous.

She sifted through all of this information within milliseconds and within that time, formulated her answer, the holotank's colors shifting as the Beta aliens once more received the yellow shade of a neutral unit.

"Tell your captains to designate the Alphas as priority one. I believe that the defenders of this planet, at least for the moment, do not wish to or are unable to attack us. It is quite possible they can be reasoned with. And we cannot afford to face both forces as a unified front. As is, we already remain oblivious to their capabilities. I suggest an immediate withdrawal as a secondary course of action." It was possible they stood no chance against these aliens, and in that scenario retreat would be the best solution.

Matthias nodded grimly. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." The fleet's slipspace drives would need several hours to cool down, maybe less if they performed an emergency core dump. But that might irreparably damage their Shaw-Fujikawa drives, effectively stranding them at their next destination. Matthias was not ready to make such a fatalistic decision until he had no other recourse. For now, they would fight.

As the new ROE was relayed to the fleet, the A.I spoke up.

"What of the survivors from Lancer-1?"

The Admiral sighed. "Extraction would be too risky. Right now we cannot afford to rescue them."

"What if they do not have the time to wait? Do we just leave them to their fate?"

He had not expected to be guilt tripped by an A.I and he rounded on her with a growl. "Damn it Ash, what would you have me do? Risk even more lives?"

"It may not be that much of a risk, Sir. If these aliens defending the planet truly do not wish to fight us, if that is indeed the case, they may allow a small recovery force through unmolested." She suspected that they could play such a card into their hands, guaranteed of course, that these other aliens truly were not hostile.

"For an A.I, that's a remarkably foolish assertion. What reason would they have to let an alien ship down to their planet?"

"Attacking the Alphas might make us appear as an ally of circumstance, and would be favorable for any interaction upon this battle's conclusion. After all, Sir, this is precisely what we set out to accomplish." She reminded him with unexpected, and somewhat forced, joviality.

He scoffed. "What, to war with an alien species?"

"To discover new life and further the goals of humanity." She countered. Ash had a plethora of arguments to bolster her suggestion, but thankfully due to the constraints of time she did not need them.

Matthias sighed. He hated how she could twist words, but hated more the fact she was somewhat in the right, however small that margin might be. This was what they had started the entire expedition for, though admittedly not the way he had foreseen it playing out. Neither did he wish to leave anyone behind if he could help it. He had a responsibility to all of those under his command. And while it may have been wise to abandon them for the greater good, the guilt of the past weighed heavily on his shoulders, preventing him from making that cold and calculating decision.

Turning away from the A.I with an unenthusiastic sigh, he grabbed the attention of one of his comms officers. "Get The Midsummer's Solace on the horn. I have a mission for them."

* * *

"Excuse me, could you repeat that? We're doing what?"

Liam sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration, this being the fifth time he had to explain himself in the last three minutes. "Did I stutter? You heard the orders just as I did. Now prepare for drop." He growled, shoving past the redheaded man that had blocked access to his locker.

But the man did not leave, instead blocking the ODST's path.

"Respectfully Sir, but what the actual fuck? What kind of crazy ass bullshit is this? Aliens? A downed corvette and some sort of retarded ass, half-baked rescue mission? Who in the fuck thought this would be a good idea?"

He did his best to ignore Martin's heated raving, calmly popping the locker open and pulling out his BDU, the bulky titanium plate weighing heavily in his arms. ODST armor had remained largely unchanged throughout the years, still as durable and faithful as it had been for the first men and women to wear it, though in recent years an assortment of various permutations had emerged for operatives with a penchant for select fields of combat.

As per his line of expertise, his personal suit sported additional ballistic plates to support his position as the command squad's CQB specialist. It gave him that little extra protection that allowed him to get up close and personal for the… finer touches.

Martin was the team's heavy weapons expert, something that fit his explosive personality quite well, perhaps too much so. Liam had tried to iron out his insubordination, but from the situation right now, it was clear he had failed.

He felt an arm yank on his shoulder as Martin got particularly aggressive.

"Hey, are you even listening to me?"

Liam turned to him and gripped the collar of Martin's undersuit, effortlessly forcing the man against a wall locker with a loud clang, a forceful attempt to remind him who exactly was in charge. Leaning forwards close enough that their noses nearly touched, he growled. "I am, I just don't fucking care. Now, for the second and last time, get suited up for drop or I will leave your useless ass behind." He punctuated his order with a sharp tug, tossing Martin to the ground in a heap of dangly legs and arms.

The rest of the locker room was silent, the other soldiers under his command studiously ignoring the confrontation as they each respectively readied for deployment. There was the occasional hushed whisper but otherwise no voices were raised. After a year under the Major's command, they learned that he liked to run a tight group, follow orders and if you have anything to say, don't. Such was their respect for the hero of Sigmus II that even the topic of dropping onto a possibly hostile alien world was not enough for them to break the silence. Or perhaps they were just too anxious to speak aloud.

Martin was the only one who did not follow that rule. And for that reason they often clashed, both in and outside of combat drills. Yet, for whatever reason, he had never moved him out of the company.

Once armored up, Liam tucked his helmet under his arm and stepped out of the locker room, marching down to the HEV bay ahead of the rest of his unit.

Oh how he despised his position. Those in charge had thought it a fantastic idea to put the hero of Sigmus II in charge of a company.

Liam scoffed.

He hated that title even more than he did the rank bestowed upon him.

There had been no heroes that day or any other during the length of the extended siege. It had been a grueling slaughterhouse planetside, and the worst naval defeat in UNSC history. It had been where the might of the UNSC navy proved it could be broken, that its armies could be defeated. It had only been the masterful propaganda sculpting of ONI that had turned such a drastic miscarriage of military management into overwhelming success, his failure as a leader, as an older brother, met with resounding applause.

With a snarl he smashed his helmet into the closest bulkhead, nearly cracking the ceramic coating against the steely surface.

From that point on his life had become a mockery, paraded around Earth and lauded as a hero, going so far as to receive a medal of honor and promotion from Fleet Admiral Hood himself. Yet he could never again look his family in the eyes, knowing the depth of his own shame and failure. How could he tell them all the stories were lies, that he was not the heroic figure they were led to believe.

In the years after he had become a rancorous individual, embittered with his own undeserved fame that haunted him no matter where he went. Not even drunken oblivion allowed him to escape his demons. So when he heard about this expedition, he knew it was his only recourse, his one true escape.

Liam cared not about what it was, only that it gave him an opportunity to leave, to get as far away as was humanly possible from the faults of his past. The existence of aliens was barely a footnote in his attention, the man more curious as to why these old thoughts returned. He had not held them since he left. Yet it seemed the call of battle was enough to dredge the unwanted memories up, reminding him of the true reason he chose this path

He could only hope to somehow redeem himself of his old sins, this maybe being the opportunity to do just that.

Shoving away his brooding as he entered the HEV bay, Liam retrieved his gear from the weapons lock up and made sure his drop pod was properly stocked with ammo and supplies. Unfortunately their company was not equipped with an A.I, the intelligent machines being too valuable a resource to send on such an uncertain venture. So they would have to get all of their information from the Solace's initial radar scans and their own equipment once they landed. His only concern lay within the initial drop itself, how many would he lose to AA, if there was indeed anti-aircraft. What kind of force deployment would they be expecting, what kind of firepower? What were the rules of engagement?

He knew the Solace was approaching the planet already, swinging wide from the known hostile aliens to come low from the planet's orbit, hopefully not to be fired upon by the second fleet. It was indeed a dumb plan, dumb being a very, very soft way of stating his opinion on the matter. Yet orders were orders, they always were. And he would not disobey them again.

Gradually, the rest of the company trickled in, men and women he had hardly bothered to learn the names of. The occupation of a helljumper was a violent, dangerous profession. Many tended not to live very long lives. Those that benefited from a penchant for survival were inclined to maintain a level of detachment in regards to their newer cohorts.

The fundamental heart of an ODST company consisted of a central force of veteran soldiers who maintained a tight-knit, virtually familial bond with one another. It was not until the raw recruits were baptized in the fires of their first handful of drops that they were allowed entry into this lauded brotherhood.

Unfortunately, as a result of the expedition's unique nature of recruiting members all throughout the armed forces, such a close bond had not had the chance to develop. Most were not even from the same regiments, let alone knew each other before the voyage. And there was only so much that combat drills aboard a starship could do to bring a company together. Ironically, this drop might pull them together better than twelve months of drill.

Liam had tried his best to ensure that those under his command would have sufficient training and coordination, but it was a nearly impossible task. He only had a handful or so men with previous drop expertise. True, all helljumpers needed a certain degree of combat experience before they were allowed to attend one of the ODST academies and every one of them had served with some measure of aptitude in their own way. But most of the soldiers in his company had never participated in a live atmospheric drop into an active warzone, which was in itself, a whole other can of worms. And to compound this unfortunate truth, they would be deploying onto an alien occupied world with fuck all intelligence on what to look for or even what the ROE were.

Fatalities were always to be expected, it was a statistical fact for any military unit, though ODSTs always had higher casualties rates. But with such unfavorable odds, it was a very real possibility that none of them would be coming back from this.

The ODST chanced a glance at his mission counter, noticing that they had a good half hour before they were to drop over the southern hemisphere. The Solace's scanners had picked up on Lancer-1's crash site, any survivors from the descent or from the lifeboats would know to rally there for extraction.

Yet, the cruiser's scanners had also detected what appeared to be a military installation less than five klick from the crash site. Imaging was rough, probably in part to the unanticipated and disruptive effects of energy based technology, something no doubt ONI would be very interested to hear. But the outline of the facility was a close match to what they would expect to see of a UNSC air base. There was no telling which of these alien sides controlled the compound, or what they could expect to find after they deployed. All he knew was that in fifteen minutes they would be passing into what the Captain most likely assumed to be weapons range with the defensive fleet. And in that moment they would receive their answer on whether or not this alien faction would play nice.

If not…

Well he suspected it wouldn't be of any concern to him at that point.

Liam supposed he should have felt nervous at the uncertainties ahead of him, or even guilt that he never took the time to memorize the names of those who would undoubtedly end up dying under his command. But he didn't feel anything, hadn't in a very long time. This was perhaps the most interesting thing to occur in his life in the years following Sigmus… and he didn't care at all.

War was always the same, almost comfortingly so in its grueling, bloodthirsty routine. They may have known literally nothing about these aliens, but at the least he could take some measure of comfort in warfare's familiarity. If it was hostile, you killed it, as simple as that. He had been fighting for so long that he had nearly forgotten what it was like to do anything but. In some odd years he would reach his thirties, and had nothing worthwhile to show for his time in this plane of existence. He never started a family, hadn't even had a girlfriend. He couldn't even go home for fear of the changes his family would see in him. It had been some time since the funeral, that being the last time he saw them. And he wanted to keep it that way. They were better off without him, as most people were.

Sighing, the helljumper finished securing his HEV's load, the drop pod laden with enough ammunition and supplies to keep him combat capable for at least a week, maybe even a month if he stretched it and the company pooled their collective resources together. He didn't expect the mission to last that long, yet with the situations depthless uncertainty, nothing was absolute.

Another brief glance at his mission counter informed him that the main fleet would soon be within weapon's range of their intended targets. As this ship's commander of its ODST detachment, he was afforded a certain level of knowledge regarding basic fleet positioning and planning.

His conversation with Captain Strikeland had been brief and to the point. The fleet would engage this threat, and if necessary, would abandon his company on the surface if the enemy's power proved to be greater than expected. As such, the faster he completed their objective and exfiltrated the surviving crew of Lancer-1, the better.

It was a predictable and blameless sacrifice when balancing the lives of a hundred ODST's to that of a single cruiser, or even the fleet as a whole. He just hoped it did not come to that. He was not quite yet ready to die, at least not until he had met one of these aliens for himself. He had to admit some level of interest in coming face to face with an extraterrestrial. At the very least it would make for one hell of a story to tell in his ripe old age.

If he ever reached it of course.

By the time he was finished with his pod, the company was well along the way to completing the preliminary labor on their own respective machines, the grumbling figure of Martin huddled at the rear of the drop bay, standing beside the other men from the card game they had played earlier that day, Tim and Cullen. He hoped they would survive the drop, finding them to be the most agreeable men he had come across on this damned voyage. If they died, he would have no one to play cards with, and Liam did not have a talent for making new friends easy.

Curious as to how well they were taking such a strange set of circumstances, he stood in the background while they toiled, studying their movement. Outwardly they didn't show any sign of stress, but that was to be expected. They were helljumpers, the toughest soldiers to have ever lived. It was also possibly due to the fact they would be away from the fleet by the time combat was initiated.

The only good part about this hazardous deployment lay in the fact they would not participate in the orbital clash. He, and by extension his company and most soldiers in general, would rather take their chances planetside, where their fates, (as uncertain as they may be), lay with the rifles in their hands.

In the end, when they moved to board their drop pods for surface deployment, there was no ostentatious speech or impassioned declaration that no matter what they faced, they would emerge victorious. It had been silent as each warrior climbed into their respective HEVs, a machine little more than a primitive torpedo, just as likely to kill them as any enemy they might come to face, alien or human.

Liam had never been much of a talker. Neither had he bought into all that verbose grandstanding when he had been a grunt. Most soldiers didn't care about epic speeches or sycophantic words; they just cared about getting through the battle alive.

Grandiose verses would not see them through what was to come. Their actions would have to speak in their place.

War had never been a place for words.

* * *

Fox watched with some level of alarm as the lumbering alien flotilla approached, a veritable tide of strike craft heralding their arrival. He was more afraid of them than the venomian fleet currently trying to wipe them out. Could those fools not see what they had done? Did they not recall the Aparoid conflict? Cornerian still had yet to recover, its cities and populous barely healed and he could only wonder how the Venomians had faired.

But it seemed they held little regard for their actions, or legitimately did not care either way. Did they not understand what this meant for Lylat? Another spacefaring race had found their system, with capabilities and power unidentified. True, the ship the venomians had destroyed had been so without much difficulty.

But these ships….

They were not of the same caliber. Their size and scope was nearly beyond comprehension. The largest vessel was easily thrice the size of the old Great Fox, and quite obviously a warship without question. They may have been peaceful explorers or wandering conquerors. Not that it mattered since Venom had no doubt eliminated any hope for peace with their reckless actions. Met with violence, they could only respond in kind.

His gloomy study of the approaching alien forces coming to an end, Fox recalled Falco and Fay back to the ship. If things deteriorated as rapidly as he suspected, the vulpine wanted the team to be onboard in case they had to enact a hasty escape. Their lives weighed more than the contract Peppy had given them and he hoped the hare would understand that.

His only other immediate concern was on how to get Krystal and Miyu back before shit hit the fan. They were still stuck planetside, last transmission he received from them was a garbled mess, but mentioned something about Venomians. He could only assume whatever of Oikonny's forces that made it to the ground had set up some kind of jammer, preventing them from communicating and most likely from reaching the pre-designated evac point.

Fox could not come to their aid, as much as he desperately wanted to. Breaking away from the fleet or even trying to slip their arwings through the warzone was a fool's errand, more likely to get them killed then accomplish anything. As it was they were somewhat safe back at the rear of the fleet, but a thick ring of venomian fighters and light cruisers prevented them from doing anything but staying where they were.

This only frustrated him even more. Never had the team been so scattered, and he felt helpless, unable to do anything but watch as events unfolded.

Movement from outside the bridge's window grabbed the vulpine's attention and Fox observed as one of the smaller, yet undoubtedly large ships, split from the main force on a direct heading towards the planet.

Apprehension piled in his stomach.

"ROB, can you calculate the destination of that alien ship?" Though he already had a pretty good guess on where it was going.

The robot's computational software quickly afforded him a response.

"Continuing on current flight path, the alien vessel will achieve orbit directly above the fallen spacecraft in ten minutes."

As expected they wanted to retrieve the survivors. Or did they instead want to purge the crash site of any trace of their technology? Either way, even he could see that such a maneuver was a risky gambit at best, and a horrible catastrophe at worst. What if the CDF fleet fired upon them? Why were they willing to risk so many lives? At the very least it painted them as either an honorable or ruthless species depending on their motives.

He supposed this also might be some test of faith. It was obvious there was a conflict occurring here. Perhaps these aliens were aware of who fired on them? The rest of the CDF task force was far too occupied fending for their lives to notice the relatively small ship heading towards the atmosphere. It might have been able to slip past undetected if not for the fact Fox had seen it.

A decision lay with the vulpine, did he let them go unimpeded, or did he stop them from doing whatever it was they came to accomplish? The choice was not an easy one to make. If he did stop them, he could very well be confirming to them that both the CDF and Venom were hostile. And that was assuming he could even stop them. The vulpine wasn't knocking Slippy's technical expertise. But he doubted a rundown carrier would be able to do much against a ship of that size.

Fox supposed he could request support, but their forces were stretched thin as it was maintaining the fragile battle line. They could not afford to even let a handful of fighters away.

Coming to a hard conclusion, Fox decided to take a leap of faith. Maybe these aliens would prove different from the aparoids. He desperately hoped this would prove to be true, that they only intended to save their people. Otherwise any tragic event afterwards would be of his own doing.

"Fox, what do we do?"

The vulpine turned to Slippy, projecting a confident grin he was hard-pressed to make. Their situation appeared to be a hopeless one, but perhaps, if luck was on their side, it would not be that way for long. "We'll do what we always do, Slip."

"We'll get through this one alive."

It wasn't exactly a comforting assurance. But given the uncertainties they faced, it was the best they could ask for.

Suddenly, several flashes of light lit up the bridge's viewport and Fox was made witness to just how powerful these aliens were.

* * *

"Admiral, approaching MAC range in two minutes."

Matthias only briefly acknowledged the announcement; more focused on the tactical display before his eyes. As per Ash's suggestion, only the aggressing fleet had been labeled as hostile, the defenders would remain a neural target as long as they did not attack. As doubtful as he was in the veracity of her findings, he would follow her judgment as sound until proven otherwise. But if they did attack, he would show no hesitation in bringing the full might of their fleet down upon them in retaliation.

He just hoped it would not come to that seeing as they were blatantly outnumbered. And as the reports slowly came in on enemy offensive abilities, he had to bite back a scowling curse that would have burned the ears of even the most grizzled of veterans.

Lasers, these aliens employed honest to god laser weaponry. Something previously considered far in the realm of science fiction by most experts. Matthias could only wonder what those weapons could do to their titanium battle plate. It was enough to give him qualms about what they were about to start. But he remained firm on his decision. They had little choice but to continue.

Yet, what was perhaps more worrying was not in fact the lasers, but the obvious use of some kind of shielding technology. Now closer to the conflict, one could see the flickering of light with their own naked eyes as lasers crashed against barriers.

Would their weapons even have an effect? The only thing that prevented him from calling a retreat was the presence of their MAC cannons. He was confident those at least would do something. And a retreat may not truly solve the problem now that these aliens knew of their existence. It was possible they would only be leading them back to UNSC space.

And that something he absolutely could not allow to happen.

No. This had to be resolved on their own. Contingencies had already been put in place to wholly erase navigational chart data if it became clear victory was not a possibility. With little recourse left to them, this would have to be an all or nothing gamble.

Matthias took a moment to study the ships that had maneuvered into clear attack positions. They were small, but that did not mean they were inferior or any less of a threat. He could see a faint similarity between them and his own ships, both being of blocky, industrial constructions whereas the defensive forces were wedge shaped, almost artistic in a way. Fighters were visible, spanning the still forming line of alien ships. It was a small relief that the fleets fighter core outnumbered them, though he suspected this was only true because of the heavy combat already in place before their arrival.

"One minute till MAC range Sir, the fleet is requesting orders." An ensign informed him of the coming ultimatum.

If their timing had been correct, the ODST Company should be deploying to the crash site at that very moment. If the situation went south, they would only have to try and hold on for as long as it took to extract the survivors of Lancer-1. After that, it was anyone's guess as to what happened next, which was why he hoped it would not come to such a point.

Matthias sighed, stepping away from the holotank to bark out orders. _I guess this is it._

"Coordinate all MAC capable vessels. I want one targeted on each frigate analogue. And have the fleet keep distance once we are within maximum engagement range. Set up a defensive screen utilizing our interceptors and remaining corvettes. All colony ships are to stay at the rear of the formation. The destroyers are to protect them at all costs."

They could not afford to lose even a single one of them. They were the lifeblood of the fleet, and its only way of procuring supplies.

His anticipation was that the MACs would keep them out of range of whatever weaponry these aliens would bring to bear. All they needed were a few trial salvos to gauge the enemy's offensive and defensive capabilities. From there he could develop a more suitable tactic. Hopefully the Magnetic Accelerator Cannons' range would supersede that of the enemy's. He would prefer to keep them at a distance for as long as possible considering he could not anticipate the extent of damage their weapons could achieve.

Matthias didn't know what type of loses to expect, but out here, so far from allied space, any loss would be irrecoverable. He looked towards the powered down holo pedestal beside him, frowning softly. Ash was no doubt too occupied with coordinating the fleet's weapons to be of any help to him at the moment. He would have to do all of his own thinking now.

"Admiral, MACs are in range."

Matthias nodded, wary hazel eyes gazing out the bridge's viewport to what would be humanity's first interstellar conflict with an alien species. And he knew that none of them were prepared for this, they never could have been.

A weighty sigh slipping past his pursed lips, the Admiral mumbled a silent prayer for the trials yet to come.

"All ships fire when ready."

 _And may god have mercy on our souls._


	3. Chapter 3

First Contact

Chapter 2: Rules of Engagement

Krystal flinched behind the steel barricade, tightly clutching a battered blaster rifle in paws dirtied with grit and grime. Debris lay strewn across the ground, trembling as the earth quaked violently underneath, the vibrations surging up from the tarmac and into her boots. A deafening eruption of sound filled the air, a grimace forming on her muzzle as she realized another breach had been made in the fortifications, the barrier more akin to Swiss cheese than a wall.

Slowly raising an eye to peer over her sheltered position, she watched as a tide of venomian infantry filled the newest hastily made entrance, an unladylike curse slipping through her tight lipped frown as she propped her blaster on the edge of the barricade. Easing an exhausted breath through her lungs, she sighted the closest simian and squeezed the trigger, dropping the black armored ape in his tracks.

Following her shot, the rest of the soldiers in similar locations scattered about the base opened up, showering the opening with a flurry of red bolts in hopes of stemming the seemingly endless tide.

Looking to her left, she spied Miyu pressed up against the side of their last functioning landmaster, and the only reason they had yet to be completely overrun.

"We need to get out of here!" Miyu hissed, her loud voice barely able to pierce the cacophony of buzzing lasers and explosions. Communications had long ago been jammed. Even inter-squad radios no longer functioned.

Above the cat, the ponderous cannon of the landmaster shifted, firing a salvo into the widening gap in their defenses, a spray of body parts and molten rubble preceding the violent detonation. The unfortunate soldier inside had the nearly impossible task of keeping the bulk of the enemy at bay.

"I am quite aware of that!" Krystal yelled in reply, quickly ducking her muzzle as an errant laser screeched past, far too close for comfort. Poking her gun out of cover, she fired a few blind shots in the enemy's direction, hoping to get a lucky hit or two. And with the sheer volume of venomians they faced, it was a very real possibility.

The vixen used her time behind cover to search for the base commander, the young lupine having been lost in the fog of war hours ago. That was of course, if he still lived.

Thankfully, she found him hiding behind the burned out hulk of a fighter, desperately trying to keep some form of cohesion amidst the scattered CDF marines, a seemingly hopeless prospect as the Venomian tide seemed unending. What was worse, with all communications down, she had to get close enough for him to hear her.

That of course meant she had to get out of cover and make it across the field swarming with enemy soldiers.

Muttering darkly to herself, the vixen clutched her rifle tight and bolted across the open expanse, muzzle tucked low to her chest and arms folded close to her sides in an effort to make herself as small a target as possible. With the fear of death pushing her forwards, the female fox crossed the stretch of exposed asphalt in record time. She wouldn't have won any medals for athletics to be sure, but to her, running the gauntlet alive and unharmed was reward enough.

Krystal slid the last few feet on her knees, the vixen's armored knee pads sparking against the ground as she slammed into cover beside the lupine soldier. To his credit, the young wolf hardly showed surprise at the sudden and chaotic arrival of the blue vixen, instead focused on directing the half a dozen or so CDF infantry holding the position around them.

"Miss Krystal, it's a pleasure to see you still breathing." The base commander greeted her somewhat tersely, the blaster in his paws yet to go silent. At the rate things were going now, they would run out of ammunition before they broke the Venomian's insane charge.

"We can't hold this position." Krystal decided to hold out on formalities for the moment considering their situation and instead cut right to the point.

The lupine nodded grimly, watching as an explosive hurled by a Venomian soldier flew over the top of a concrete palisade, reducing it and the defenders that had taken shelter behind it into a pile of crimson rubble. But the enemy soldier did not have long to gloat over his triumph before he was gunned down in retaliation.

"I believe you are right. But we don't have a strong enough of a presence here to effect a withdrawal. We'd be slaughtered in seconds."

As soon as the enemy realized what they were trying to do, they would flood the numerous breaches in the walls and cut them down.

"Even if we could get out of here, there's nowhere to go. The last of our transports were blasted out of the sky not half an hour ago."

Krystal frowned at that. There had to be something better than loitering around here until they were all killed off. Inspiration soon struck her.

"We could make a run for the desert! Out there the Venomian armor wouldn't be able to navigate the dunes and it stretches for thousands of miles. We could hide their until rescue came, or at the least we might be able to outdistance their jammers and get a signal up to the fleet."

The wolf did not take long to mull the idea over before nodding in agreement,. "Well, not like there's any other better options to choose from. Only problem, is how the heck are we supposed to get there, alive at least."

To that she had no answer.

Yet, it seemed as if the spirits were smiling down at them. Not soon after he voiced their dilemma, a mighty roar split the air, a dull rumbling screech that nearly deafened the cacophony of battle around them.

Both turned their heads skywards to the source of the thunderous howl, watching in disbelief as a massive object hurtled down from the heavens like a fallen god, streaks of molten light trailing in the fiery wake of the rapidly descending behemoth. The bitter battle between the two factions drew to a ponderous halt as both sides gazed up in stupefaction, each perhaps wondering to which group did the obviously doomed vessel belong.

For a brief moment Krystal panicked as it seemed the unpredictable trajectory of the meteoric ship would drop it right on top of them, something none of them would survive. But its fall became more and more predictable, its final destination somewhere in the sand dunes several miles from their base.

The Venomians however, were not as confident that the fallen vessel would not decide to land on their heads. And, in a hurried action that filled her and the other CDf soldiers with uneasy relief, bid a hasty retreat from the beleaguered compound, chased away by fierce blaster fire.

She watched them leave with a grimace, knowing that they would not be gone long before their nerve came back to them. And so they had that much time to withdraw themselves, though now it seemed, they at least had a destination.

They stood motionless in the uncertain silence for a time, but they did not tarry long before they began to move once more, knowing that time was a luxury they could not afford to waste.

That doomed ship would be their salvation, a place to take shelter and an easy landmark to find for any recovery transports that might be sent after them. Even if those ideas failed, it was sure to have supplies they could use out in the arid wasteland and cover they could use when the Venomians inevitably came back for them.

As she explained her idea to the young Base Commander, Miyu moved away from the battered Landmaster and slowly limped over to the pair, a hastily fastened patch of gauze covering the burn wound on her leg. An injury the feline must have suffered not too long ago as she had been relatively unharmed last they spoke.

Just before the cat reached them she faltered, the asphalt convulsingly like a dying beast as a booming shockwave floored any not already on the ground. Krystal felt her skull crack painfully against the wreck she had been standing beside, her fur cushioning her from the worst of the unexpected blow. The female's vision blurred for a time, and did not return till the ground ceased its intermittent tremors. And it was not for several minutes afterwards that she dared try to move, confident at last that the quake was truly over.

Shakily climbing back to her feet, the vixen fought of an intense bout of nausea, managing to keep her lunch firmly secured in her stomach as she stumbled towards her fallen companion, Miyu the first priority to her haze ridden mind.

Lowering a paw to the cat's shoulder, she hauled the feline to her feet, checking her over for any new injuries that she might have received.

Irritated, the cat pushed away her probing friend's paws.

"I'm fine, just a little wobbly is all."

Despite her outwardsly angered demeanor, Krystal picked up on the sense of gratitude the other female emitted and merely nodded as she stepped away to assist the Commander as well. Around them a similar scene played out as other CDF marines aided their comrades.

The lupine groaned as he was pulled up.

"Never experienced a ship crash in atmo before. But I'd be fine if it never happened again."

"Yes, it was rather... unpleasant." Krystal admitted weakly, wincing as she felt a stab of pain. Hesitant, she shifted a paw to her head and prodded the source of her discomfort. Returning the furred appendage to her sight revealed a red stain that soaked deeply into her once bright blue fur. The sight of blood, her own for the matter, finally overcame any sense of control she had left and the vixen curled forwards, retching as her last dregs of her most recent meal finally forced its way up her throat in a burning tide of partially dissolved substances. Quick thinking on her part was all that prevented the disgusting slurry from splattering onto her chest.

As she heaved and heaved, she felt a reassuring pat on her shoulder, the limb pulling away to admit two more that helped her stand straight.

"It's alright, just a case of scattered nerves, ma'am." The wolf reassured her as he reached into a pouch on his chestplate. "You'll be fine in a few minutes." Extracting a roll of white cloth, he expertly swaddled the head wound with well practiced motions until it was concealed under a thick layering of pristine gauze, one ear neatly tucked underneath. "Would have liked to have disinfected it, but I'm afraid we've run out of any serious medical supplies." He explained with a regretful frown.

"That's fine, thanks Arden." Krystal waived his apology off kindly, more thankful that he had not called her out on such a novice level condition. Fox had trained her to handle firefights, but none of that had truly prepared her for actually living in the moment. It was easy behind the controls of a starfighter, less... personal. This was different, she had felt that her life could have suddenly ceased to exist at any moment, snuffed out in a flash like a candle.

The reality of the situation had decided to hit her all at once right now, the sight of her own blood acting as the catalyst.

Rubbing her fingers together, she grimaced at the tacky fluid covering her digits and quickly wiped it off on her thigh as she turned to Miyu, the cat eyeing her carefully, perhaps worried about her current mental state. She was aware the feline had quite a bit of experience in fieldwork, having once served a brief tour in the CDF special forces division before deciding to opt out to her old friend's merc company, an occurance not all that long ago.

Since then they'd had some time to get to know each other, not as much as she would have liked before they were to fight together, but long enough to the point that she trusted the rather vulgar lynx.

 _I'll be fine._ She mouthed over to the female who simply nodded once in acceptance before leaning over and fumbling around the ground for her abandoned blaster.

"Ideas?" She heard Arden inquire, turning to face the lupine as he directed his soldiers to scrounge for ammo and see to the wounded that could still be helped, a grim task to be sure, but a necessary one. She was impressed with the wolf's grit, not moments after the crash he had already assumed the mantle of leader.

Krystal's heart ached as she watched friends bid each other farewell, a liberal use of the remaining painkillers passed out among the dying soldiers as parting gift from their companions. With a swift shake of her head she collected herself and turned to recognize the stone faced Base Commander.

She felt gratified that though she might only be a mercenary, nothing more than a hired contractor, that he still felt she deserved to be a part of the decision making. However she was nearly certain it was mostly due to the fact she belonged to Starfox, a well-known and well-respected group.

"I say we stay the course, follow the original plan and find that crashed ship." With all other options either infeasible or left burning in the sands, that was the only viable choice afforded to them.

"Agreed." He dipped his muzzle in firm acknowledgement. "Once the soldiers are ready we'll set out. Shouldn't be all that hard to find." He chuckled morosely, steel grey eyes focused on the thick plume of black smoke in the distance as it towered up into the clear sky.

"No, it should not."

* * *

It was not long before the soldiers were ready to move out, the knowledge that the Venomians would not be far behind them injecting a great deal of haste into their steps. The threat of death was unsurprisingly, a fantastic motivational tool. And to compound their current lottery of ill luck, it was with extreme reluctance that they had been forced to leave the Landmaster behind, realizing that just as the Venomian armor could not maneuver the dunes, neither could their's.

So down their only true source of firepower, the small, weary, and downtrodden troop limped out the base's slagged gates and set course for the monumental pillar of smoke etching into otherwise untarnished stellar canvas, the looming black cloud an ominous beacon leading them onwards to survival.

Even in the initial moments the trek was long and arduous, most of them wounded and all exhausted as they struggled to climb the sandy heights that stretched endlessly before them. And with the unbearable heat of the dual suns bearing down upon them, it was not long before other threats assailed them. Heatstroke became a very real threat as a few of their number succumbed to the merciless stars' glares, a combination of combat fatigue and dehydration dropping those of weaker constitution. This slowed their progress considerably as others were forced to attempt their best to drag those that had fallen, unwilling to leave anymore behind to die.

Krystal waged a losing battle to remain at the head of the pack, the vixen's muscles strained to their limits as she fought for every foot thrown forwards, her mouth dry as the sands encircling them. Remarkably, Miyu, even with her injured leg, pressed on with admirable persistence, managing to stay ahead of the relatively unhurt fox. The slightly envious vixen alluded her comrade's durability to her previous occupation. No doubt she had faced similar situations in the past.

The only blessing from this was the fact the crashed ship was not too far away, the smoke stack from the wreck growing larger as they approached, the fallen vessel concealed behind the fields of sand before them. From even a brief glance at its size, she suspected the starship to be in some kind of ravine or canyon, as it should have been large enough to be seen even from the base.

Her hypothesis was soon confirmed as they mounted the crest of a final ridge, her muzzle flapping open in awe at the sight before her. Immediately, she could see its design was neither that of the CDF or Venom, the dark hull and unfamiliar design singling it out from anything she had seen before.

"The hell is that?" Miyu grunted from her place beside the vixen, the cat's clawed grip tightening on her blaster.

"Don't know, maybe it's a new Venomian design?" Arden suggested, the lupine having a similar reaction.

"Whatever it may be, it is our only hope of staying alive." Krystal shrugged off their musings with a measure of reluctance. She did not like it either, but they were not exactly overflowing with options at the moment. "We should hurry down, we don't know when the Venomians will find us. And if this is one of their ships, we might have a fight on our hands." She was not too sure there were survivors, not from what she saw before her now, but with their recent luck, she wouldn't be surprised if a legion of Venomian infantry was waiting down there for them.

The vixen was tired, thirsty, hungry, and felt ill. The sooner they at least found some shade from this spirits damned heat, the better.

"Thankfully, we have some rope with us, we should be able to rappel down the cliff face." Arden looked over his shoulder, watching as a pair of his soldiers set up to do just that.

Miyu huffed. "Thank the spirits for small blessing."

It was not even minutes before the set of ropes were anchored securely and tested for tensile strength. When satisfied that they would not snap, the group quickly hooked onto the lines and rappelled down the side of the cliff in sections of three.

Krystal, Arden, and Miyu were the first trio to reach the bottom, swiftly making room for the rest as they stepped forwards to the massive mountain of steel wedged tightly between the canyon's walls. As she admired the unusual sight she blushed as she heard one of the newly arrived soldiers mutter an indecent joke about the views' connotations.

Deciding to distance herself, the fox shifted closer to Miyu, the feline grinning unbearably at the other female's discomfort, making her efforts all but pointless.

Arden remained oblivious as he took the responsibility of leading their ragtag outfit, their trepidation only growing the closer they were to the mangled monolith of black iron. Fires could be seen raging uncontrollably along gaping tears in the hull plating, the occasional explosion only increasing the ship's rate of deterioration, the danger of falling debris a true possibility. If the fires did not die down soon, they might not have a place to take shelter in.

Curious, Krystal studied the canyon floor, jade green eyes passing over sheets of metal strewn wantonly about the rocks like the scattered runoff of a macabre steel mill. So far she had yet to see any sign of bodies, just heap upon heap of broken technology. Her queasy stomach thanked her, but her analytical brain wondered where they could be? Certainly some had to have been thrown out by the violence of the landing. She should have at least found one corpse by now. That knowledge was in itself, unsettling.

Once they reached the base of the wreckage they walked alongside it, searching for any access point, natural or otherwise. One was found near what they assumed to be the prow of the starship, a nasty rip in the vessel's armor looked to have been made by a smartbomb. Eyeing the entrance uncertainty, Krystal looked to the other two leaders of their impromptu expedition.

Miyu was the first to move, the feline raising her blaster as she ducked inside. With that being the instigator, soon after everyone followed suit, Krystal the last to find her way in after the wounded.

As the outside was, the interior of the strange vessel was... unconventional. A better synonym tugged at her mind but Krystal feared to use it, her reason why nothing more then a rise in apprehension. She did not want to accept what such a word might mean, not at a time like this, not with so much stress already threatening to pull her apart.

Instead she squashed the notion and looked to Miyu for guidance, following after the feline as she carefully made her way down the bizarrely designed corridor. It was a disquieting experience, traveling down those silent and unfamiliar halls, exposed wires and loose paneling hanging from seemingly every place conceivable.

A tenseness could be felt by all present, an inherent knowledge that something was not quite right but a willful ignorance to what that could be. It was not until they chanced upon writing on a nearby wall, and the never before seen corpse splayed out underneath it, that the truth crushed their imposed blindness and forced them to see.

The words were in a script not one of them could understand, and the body... It was at that moment one of them finally set voice to their realization as the pieces finally put themselves together.

Unknown ship, unknown writing, unknown corpse.

"Shit." Miyu declared most inelegantly as she slowly backpeddled to the way they came from in a desire to get the hell out as quickly as feasibly possible.

But before they could all turn tail and run, a low groan emitted from the _"corpse"_ that lay before them. All watched in fearful anticipation as the somewhat familiar figure continued to moan and now shifted about in blatant agony, a pillar of white stained with crimson jutting nauseatingly from the once considered deceased creature's leg.

The entire troop was struck with inaction, unsure what to do in this previously unconsidered situation as they watched the pained... foreigner writhe in anguish. It was only after a particularly sympathy inducing whimper that one of them acted.

"Uh. Krystal, what the hell are you doing?"

She ignored Miyu's question and hesitantly kneeled before the... alien. _Guess there's no denying it now. And I thought the day was already crazy enough. Should have known better._

The vixen studied the injury as she developed her inner monologue, taking the initiative to scan the alien's unusual clothing and appearance as well. Fleshy, is what she would have described it as, remarkably similar to the simians of Venom, if a little larger and somewhat sturdier than the race of apes. The tattered remnant of what could only be a military uniform covered most of its exposed skin, dull grey livery that would have undoubtedly looked far more impressive if the current wearer was not crippled by pain and covered in a stark red fluid that could only be blood.

Krystal was not sure what she herself could do for him, the alien looking close enough to a male for her to make the assumption. She was not overtly versed in medicinal practices, but she did have a unique ability that just might do something. Raising a paw, she carefully placed it on the creature's shoulder, summoning up a sense of peace and wellbeing, feeding that perception into the one before her. It would not heal him, but at the very least it could take the pain away.

This seemed to have some effect as the alien soon quieted down and ceased his struggling. With the pain no longer debilitating it, the exotic being once more regained a portion of control over its faculties, enough for it to open its eyes to reveal a set of hazel orbs that searched for what had eased its woes better then most prescription grade painkillers.

Once the alien's vision landed on the vixen kneeling beside it, it froze up, eyes widening in some parts disbelief and overwhelming shock, fear having yet to circulate through its widening gauntlet of troubled emotions.

Hoping to reduce whatever panic it might be feeling, Krystal offered the wounded creature a small, friendly smile. But this seemed to have the opposite effect as she felt its consciousness spike into abject terror. Before it could scream she once more applied the good feelings she had used before, with a little more intent behind them, and watched with small success as it calmed once more, its fear and paranoia replaced by skepticism and suspicion.

"It is alright, you are safe now." She promised it, smiling in reassurance once more, but ensuring that her teeth were concealed behind her lips, wondering if perhaps that was what frightened it. This as well seemed to prove a good idea as the sense of suspicion waivered, through its skepticism remained unchanged.

Lips moving, the alien blurted out what was no doubt words in its own language, the vixen frowning as whatever it said washed over her uncomprehending ear. Her only response was to shrug. However, that action alone seemed more fruitful than anything she had tried so far as the alien muttered to itself with what sounded like a chuckle as it attempted to sit up.

Krystal reached out to help but stopped as it sent what was no doubt a glare at her, suspicion once more rearing its ugly head. With a sigh she instead leaned back, offering it more room in an attempt to gain some measure of trust.

"Krystal, just gonna ask ya one more time in case you didn't hear me the first time. Just what the hell are you doing? That's a _freakin alien_!" Miyu hissed, claws scratching at the metalwork of her blaster. "We need to get the fuck out of here before more of them show up.

Hearing the no doubt confrontational tone, the alien shuddered, a huge surge of fear flowing through its system as it gazed at the irate feline with wide eyes. With a sigh, the vixen placed a placating paw on its shoulder and sent a small burst of the combination of feelings she had used earlier, before turning to her friend.

"That as it may be, it is clearly in pain and of no harm to any of us."

"Alien." Was all the feline declared in response, as if that single word was justifiable enough to leave a fellow sapient to dwell alone in its own suffering.

And while the expressions of their small group seemed to reflect the cat's feelings, Krystal would not let fear cloud her thoughts. Until otherwise she would allow it, and by extension its people, the benefit of the doubt.

"Alien as this male may be, if you are so terrified by this wounded individual, feel free to wait outside."

That seemed to give the other female pause, reminding her that as it were, they did not exactly have all that many options. Despite this, what waited for them out here was little better.

"Point made." The feline grunted reluctantly. "But for the record, let me just say this is not going to end well."

"I'll make sure to quote that for the history books." Krystal chuckled lightly, releasing some of the stress that had been compiling for so long. At the very least, she was thankful for the distraction this provided, keeping her thoughts away from the uncertain future.

With little desire to probe further into the alien ship, Arden decided here was as good place as any to set up temporary camp, and the lupine could soon be heard barking orders once more. As he spoke, bodies hit the deck of the alien ship as tired and beaten marines were finally able to get some rest, as uneasy as it may be that they were doing so inside the damaged wreck of an alien starship.

As they settled down, Krystal turned once more to the wounded individual she kneeled beside, taking in its unreadable expression as it watched members of another species decide to crash on his ship. She sent him a wave of reassurance but didn't know how well it took as its face remained unchanged.

Her unbandaged ear flicked.

* * *

Ensign Belchacko Radovich's day could not be any worse. What had started off as a routine drop from slipspace had turned from boring and mundane into his worst nightmare. He still remembered the panic that had consumed the entire ship before he blacked out, merciful oblivion granted to him by the edge of hallway turnoff.

He recalled the klaxons that had woken him from his sleep, a fearful pull on his chest as he identified the particular screech.

The call for battle stations...

Barely slipping into his uniform he had navigated the rush of mutually panicked crewmen as he attempted to reach the bridge, a small, nonsensical part of his mind lamenting the fact he was early to his shift, the more serious half wondering what in the hell was happening. Unfortunately, before he had even crossed half the ship a series of shuddering impacts had rocked the corvette's superstructure, disabling artificial gravity, amongst the countless other systems to have been affected by whatever dynamic force struck their small vessel.

Alone in the hall during the cataclysmic event, he had sailed into the closest wall, his own legs carrying him forwards into blessed unconsciousness on no will of their own as gravity simply ceased to exist.

He did not know how long he was out of it, just that upon waking his body had cried out in shock. Bolts of sheer, mind numbing agony blazing paths of hellfire down the nerves in his leg, and most of his battered frame as well he would add. Such a high level of pain told him he had to have broken something, possibly even many something.

It was unknown to Belchacko exactly how long he lay on the cool deck, wallowing in a simmering pot of utter torment. But judging from the fact the corridor was silent and the ship was no longer pitching and bowing like some maddened beast, whatever flurry of events that had occurred must have been over. Yet the knowledge that he had not been recovered and placed in the infirmary filled him with dread. Where were the rest of the crew, surely someone should have come for him by now.

True to form, just as he questioned, an answer came to him, the sound of footsteps drawing closer. He tried to speak, but found he could not yet form any intelligable words, instead releasing what he would call a manly groan of pain if any were to question him later.

He waited for a moment, but no one came to help. Were they really just standing there and watching him suffer?

 _Motherfucker. I bet it's Ricky, that asshole. Just one harmless prank with the airlock and suddenly I'm a prick. Idoit just has no sense of humor. Fine I'll get up myself._

Of course, he hadn't even made it a foot in any direction before his body let him know full well what it thought about his attempts. Letting go of a somewhat less masculine hiss of pain, he decided curling up in a ball of ache was the better decision.

 _Then again, maybe I'll wait for help._

Finally there was movement, the trod of boots coming to a stop beside him, the ensign feeling the unobservable pressure of a person close by. He felt a hand on his shoulder, thick and padded, a glove perhaps?

Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of... peace, washed over him, carrying away all his aches and pains. Startled no small measure by this bizarre development, he gathered the strength to open his eyes and see who exactly was laying a hand on him, ready to ask that person how the hell they were able to do that.

Instead he found his readied words falling flat at he completely unexpected sight before him.

 _It's a... dog._ His brain decided in an effort to tackle this development as pragmatically as possible. _And... it's blue. A blue dog... with hands._ He discovered as his eyes flickered briefly to the furry appendage latched onto his shoulder. _Paws?_ His mind grasped for straws weakly.

The dog... thing's... muzzle stretched into a snarl, revealing a double row of pearly white canines that glistened as they contrasted against its black lips.

 _Oh shit in the name of all that is holy please don't bite me oh god, oh shit._ Belchacko opened his mouth, fully intending to plead for the salvation of his beautiful face when that odd sensation returned full force, calming his fear addled mind. By now he inferred it had to be coming from the... he didn't want to say it but the truth was undeniable... alien, it was an honest to god alien.

Nor was it alone, over its shoulder he could see a small group of them, dogs, a wolf, even a damned cat, rather than hunched on all fours they stood tall, on two legs, like a human... well as human as one could be with fur, an elongated face, and a tail stuck out the ass.

 _Man, if pops could see me now, bloodied, broken, and surrounded by the cast off remnants of a Disney movie. The old bastered would be turning in his grave._ A small measure of amusement flared momentarily in him at the riciolousness of his current predicament. If not for the undeniable pain lancing through him, he would have been certain he was still conked out on the deck.

A voice dragged his wavering attention span back to the present, a reality he was trying to face as logically as was possible given the extraneous circumstances. The source was none other than the dog... or was it a fox that kneeled by him? He had admittedly not been a very good student, his grades being the de facto force behind his enlistment into the navy. A guy with a D- average wouldn't go very far in life.

 _Yet look where I am now._ He couldn't help but feel somewhat smug at the small victory. _Hah! Take that Mr. Burns!_

 _Aliens, don't forget the aliens dimwit._ His brain tried to nudge him back to reality once more. _Right, aliens, can't forget them._ The young ensign decied it might be wise to hear what the alien was saying, but came off unsurprised when he didn't understand a damn word. But it was interesting to watch as its lips contracted and contorted in ways no earthborn dog could ever hope to emulate. The words - if one could define the sequence of barks and growls of alternating pitch that emanated from its muzzle - by such terrestrial designations, were fascinating to listen to. And the man felt some remorse that the context behind them sailed completely over his head.

Flicking his tongue across his dry lips, he muttered to himself, voice stiff and hoarse after god knows how long he had been rendered unconscious.

"Why does all the crazy shit happen to me? First that crazy haunted EVA op, and now this, freaking aliens. Just my damned luck."

A shift of motion from the alien snapped his attention back to it and he watched curiously as it seemed to shrug, a surprisingly... human behavior that calmed him with its familiarity. A chuckle passed through him off its own volition as he stared at the alien's chest.

"Well, at least I know it's a female."

And as interesting as that new development was, it was about time he did something other then lay on the floor. Aliens or not, he still had a duty to carry out. He needed to check the ship, find out exactly just what happened while he was out. If these aliens were onboard, it meant that they either boarded the corvette... or it crashed. Which judging by the state of the corridor around him, seemed the most likely conclusion. But what the hell were the doing on here, and perhaps the better question, where the fuck did they come from?

The only thing he was grateful for at the moment is that they did not appear to be particularly hostile. If anything that... blue fox, appeared to be trying to help. _Damn, my head hurts. Too much weird shit with little enough time to digest._

Pressing his sweat and blood stained palm against the wall behind him, he gathered what was left of his strength and tattered will, and tried his best to stand. He'd be damned if he looked weak in front of a lady, alien or not. He had an image to uphold!

As he struggled, the alien female had an idea to help so it would seem, reaching out to add her strength to his own. In response he aimed his firmest stare at her, unwilling to have her near when he was in such a vulnerable position. He couldn't tell her to back up but he sure as hell could give her a look that screamed hands off.

Thankfully, she not only understood the message but moved away in compliance. But before he could fully prop himself up, he heard a sound that stopped him cold, like the sibilate roar of a wild mountain lion, A jet of ice cold terror froze him to the deck, hazel eyes dilating as he cast a fearful glance to the feline wielding a weapon, its pencil thin pupils glaring daggers at him as its muzzle split into a undeniably antagonist grimace.

He would be remiss if he did not admit to nearly losing control of all motor function under that oppressive glare. Shocked as he was, he hardly noticed or reacted to the fact the fox had once more reached out, resting her paw upon him, a familiar sense of wellbeing coursing through his rattled brain. Belckacko did not question it, just glad he no longer felt so afraid.

Instead he watched as the two aliens bickered for a transient moment before the cat backed off, seemingly mollified by whatever the female fox had barked to her, the alien chuckling softly to herself.

Seeing that he was no longer quite so in danger, he watched curiously as the other aliens, all armed and armored like the marines he had seen stationed on this ship, dropped to the deck with human-like sighs of relief. The sight made him once again question why they were here. Flecks of red dotted most of their equipment and he could see a liberal amount of gauze spread out amongst them, near enough to equip a small trauma ward.

For a fearful moment, he thought them to be hostile, their injuries having been sustained from an attack on the crew, but supposed if that were true he would in all likelihood be dead. Rather, from their weary stances and haggard appearance, it almost seemed to him, as if they were... running from something.

In his observation, he noticed the female fox that still lingered near him. Her ear flicked, reminiscent in a manner of the times he had blown into the mopy flaps of his dog back home, years back when he still could afford to have one that. _Poor Roscoe._

He wondered what had caused this, but did not wait long before he heard a sound he could not forget, the repetition burned into his mind. That was the clack of standard issue combat boots, marine permutation to be precise if the weight behind them was any indication.

Hearing what was no doubt a group of friendlies, humans, he could not contain his elation. "Hey, over here. I'm over here!" He called out in both parts relief and jubilation.

But the young ensign was not oblivious enough that he did not hear the faint commotion behind him, rearing his head back in fear, he turned to the aliens, wondering if they were about to silence his calls for help.

Instead he was treated to the sight of a very uncertain looking fox, the alien sharing the grim countenance with her cohorts as they readied themselves for something. And he realized then, they probably did not want to be found.

He was unable not to feel guilty in some way. Well more afraid then guilty. He dreaded what might happen if a squad of heavily armored marines rounded the corner and came upon such an unusual sight. And he'd be right smack dab in the middle of it all, laying there with a broken leg.

As he considered the situation in detail, he felt his joy quickly fade.

 _Oops._

* * *

Krystal looked away from the alien and to the mouth of the hallway they had not explored, noticing a faint reverberation that seemed to grow louder with each passing second. She only wondered briefly what that might mean before it dawned on her.

She glanced over her shoulder to say something, but Miyu had already picked up on the noise, the cat quickly speaking to Arden as the now identified sounds of footsteps grew nearer. Realization slowly passed out amongst them as soldiers struggled to stand, their brief rest already inducing a heavy lethargy that had them fighting to raise their blasters.

Unsurprisingly, the sound of footsteps perked the alien up considerably and it began to shout in its native tongue, obviously calling for its fellows. For a second Krystal felt betrayed, that it sought to rat them out after she had done her best to help, but the sense of treachery soon withered as logic prevailed. Why would it not seek the help of its friends? They could help it better than she.

Miyu moved to hush the alien before it gave them away but Krystal batted her paw away, the feline regarding her in blatant disbelief.

"They were likely to find us anyways." She replied, somewhat morosely as the certainty she felt began to fade, replaced by emotions the alien had displayed not too long ago as she dreaded what might transpire.

They were not kept waiting long as the thundering of boots reached a crescendo just as several figures rounded the corner, all donned in bulky armor of similar tint as the alien's clothing, the only exception being the one at the center of the small group, who's plates were dyed a bright white, a dark red cross emblazoned on its chest. Just as with the one they first encountered, these aliens had mostly hairless faces, some rougher than others but all protected by helmets strapped tightly to their compact skulls.

A like minded reaction occurred between the two parties. The new individuals froze stiff, like a pack of nocturnal creatures suddenly caught up in a surge of light as their minds struggled to interpret the signals their eyes were relaying to them. Which was the fact they had spotted several aliens crowded around one of their own, grievously wounded.

So it came as no surprise that as soon as they regained their faculties, the objects in their arms were immediately raised and shouldered, giving off no pretense as to what they were. A brief moment of inactivity fell as neither side could decide how to react, knowing any action taken thereafter would have to be committed in full.

* * *

Seeing the impending violence he was about to be trapped between, Ensign Belchacko acted with commendable haste and courage, as he would go on later to state in his report. Wincing in pain, he made his best effort to stand as he tossed his arms in the air in a very obvious sign of peace, mouth already running on automatic as he hoped to talk his way out of it.

"Wait, hold your horses their Sergeant, it's not what you think." Thankfully, he knew the Arcadian squad leader fairly well, having chatted with him quite a few times over the length of their voyage.

He had prior knowledge of Sergeant Taylor's most impressive poker face from the many games of blackjack they had played in their off-duty hours. Yet even so, Belchacko could not help but remain seriously impressed at the still-as-stone guise on the other man's roughly stubbled visage. The rugged marine had not so much as twitched as he took in the unexpected sight spread out before him, though his fellows were not as well versed in facial fortitude. The younger soldiers let loose soft gasps of shock, visibly panicked by the aliens they had stumbled upon.

"Just what the hell am I seeing right now, Radovich?" Sergeant Taylor demanded, not a shred of emotion tainting his words, an eary calmness exuding from the stonecold veteran. "Cuz it looks like the cricus just let out early."

"Well... you see..." Belchacko began with a weak smile. "I... don't rightly know. I just woke up here on the deck, surrounded by these... folk. They seem friendly enough, one tried to help me." He nudged his head to the blue dog... fox women. The action strained still sore muscles and the young man flashed his teeth in a grimace.

Taylor grunted skeptically, MA37 steadily returning to its rest position, an action mirrored just as cautiously by the other marines. "Corporal Leslie, see to Radovich's injuries. He and I have some words that need said and I'd rather have him remain conscious for the immediate duration.

With a tentative nod, the medic drifted to him, not so eager to draw closer to the strange creatures.

"Ensign," The Arcadian called for his attention as the women went to work. "The corvette was brought down by unknown hostiles." The Sergeant was rather pointed with his insinuation, hardened and mistrustful eyes still steadfastly locked onto the aliens. "As of right now we're grounded on an alien planet and word has yet to come from the fleet. Most of the crew made it to the lifeboats and are now scattered over several kilometers of open alien desert. Those that did not reach said lifeboats in time ended up much like yourself... or worse. My squad is the only cohesive unit left on the ship, and even then I'm down at half strength. Melvin, Harriet, and Boris are dead, and Adam is paralyzed at the waist down, most likely permanent. Hell, even the Captain has bit the dust."

Belchacko frowned. He knew those people well, had, known them well. It made him wonder how many others had lost their lives. Ricky? Eh, the guy was an asshole, he wouldn't be all that affected if he heard that the rude and pompous engineer bit the dust. But with the Captain out of the picture, the chain of command would be in shambles. All in all, things did not look good for the crew of the _Damsel In Distress_.

"As far as I can tell," Taylor continued on. "There are about twenty odd marines left on the ship that are combat capable, plus about eight or so crewmen of varying degrees of capability. That was the most recent count before we started sending out teams to check the rest of the ship. Captain's final standing order was to secure the ship, find the crew, and wait for UNSC retrieval."

After disseminating the new information, he had more questions then there were hours in a day, but postponed the vast majority for the sake of one he considered most important.

"What do we do till then?"

"Well, for starters, how about you get your new alien buddies to drop their... guns."

"I wouldn't really call them buddies." Belchacko nervously looked back to the very intimidating feline.

"Either you ask them... or I force them. I don't care if they shit out sunshine and rainbows, preaching the good word of Jesus himself. As it stands we've been attacked and I won't have armed non-UNSC personnel on this ship, no matter how friendly they seem to you. I will see the Captain's final orders carried out, whether or not I have to do it my damned self. So I'll ask you again to ask them to drop their guns. Please and thank you, Ensign."

The tone of the Sergeant offered no illusion that he had a choice in the matter and so it was with great reluctance that he turned to the more receptive of the aliens, the female fox eying him curiously.

"Good, glad you saw things my way." Taylor looked to the infantrymen flanking him. "Adrian, Lasco, head back to the wardroom and inform the Lieutenant of our findings. Ramirez, Varo, Leslie and myself will stay here and keep an eye on our unexpected... guests."

With a double set of nods and "Yes, Sirs" The two soldiers quickly backtracked out of the corridor.

As an uncomfortable silence befell the two parties, the dark skinned Sergeant muttered, mostly to himself.

"It's gonna be one of those days isn't it?"

* * *

Just as Krystal feared the standoff would escalate, the wounded alien made a darkly comedic effort to stand as he waived his paws wildly, its lips flapping as it gasped and ranted. All Krystal and the others could do was stare and wonder, their lives now placed in the clutch of a being not of their system.

Yet what it said seemed to be for their benefit as weapons were cautiously lowered to chest height, still ready to move and release whatever payload they might contain, but at the least not as noticeable or aggressive.

Seeing as a possibly fatal firefight had just been averted, it was no surprise when they collectively let loose a few relieved exhalations. One of the aliens, skin of darker complexion then its compatriots, barked out a few sentences in its gutteral tongue and Krystal watched as the one in white slowly approached, the vixen's heart rate jumping as it hesitantly went down on a knee across from her. A female, if the softer face and lumped chest were any indicator, snapped a hard case off her belt and rested the container by the wounded male.

Krystal watched inquisitivly as the female sorted through the pack of what she figured to be medical supplies before focusing on the male's injuries, swiftly utilizing an autoinjector and gauze as she wrapped and bound the leg wound, with various hiss and moans from the in pain being. She studied the male as he spoke animatedly with the dark skinned warrior across the corridor, their words unintelligable as they conversed. Her fate perhaps tied to that conversation, she realized this is how the alien must have felt not too long ago.

A reluctant understanding seemed to pass between them, the armed soldier nodding curtly as he gestured to the pair of males on either side of him. In response, they barked out a quick response in their odd language and jogged off deeper into the ship, the purpose unknown to her.

Something prodded the vixen's arm, Krystal looking down to regard the alien she had first encountered. It gestured repetativly with its arms, words once more rendered pointless by the gap of understanding between them. But thankfully, his gesticulations were quite understandable.

As Krystal realized the point he was trying to make, the female with the white armor slung her arms under the wounded alien's and hefted him unsteadily to his feet till he could hold himself up using the wall beside him.

"If it's asking us what I think it is, then we might have some problems here." Miyu muttered quietly, The unchecked resentment in her tone drawing the eyes of the ebon skinned warrior, his stance and expression mirroring her own to a tee.

"Miyu..." Krystal sighed in exasperation.

"No." The feline declared firmly. "I'm not putting my weapon away. And frankly, I think you're crazy for even considering it. What's to stop them from cutting us down the moment we drop our guard?"

"They could attack us regardless of whether or not we have blasters out." The vixen countered. She understood the cat's reluctance, she already felt vulnerable and would not doubt be more so if she disarmed. Yet, while she could sense a great deal of mistrust and belligerence from these aliens, if they were to foster any rapport with them, first a measure of trust would have to be earned. Showing them she and her companions had no hostile intent would be the first step.

"We boarded their ship, the least we could do is comply with their not entirely unreasonable request."

Miyu fumed silently but otherwise made the concession, tossing her blaster to the deck with a huff of indignation, folding her arms crossly. "Unbelievable, dumb naive girl is gonna get me killed."

Turning to look at Arden now, the vixen watched as the lupine shrugged, his weapon soon joining Miyu's. The clatter of blaster rifles filled the corridor as the rest of the CDF personnel present unenthusiastically relieved themselves of their gear.

Much to Miyu's surprise and Krystal's expectations, the aliens did not immediately gun them down, rather they themselves looked relieved, their own weapons lowering further from their guarded positions as they adopted a somewhat relaxed air.

Rather than say I told you so, Krystal merely satisfied herself with a smirk, the feline scoffing and muttering at the smug grin.

"Surprised no ones thought to ask who shot this ship down." Miyu grumbled moodily, shuffling awkwardly in place. She was unused to such a sense of vulnerability as she felt at that moment. "Maybe it was us? Maybe we had a reason to? Did it occur to you that they may have joined in the attack on the fleet."

"That's certainly possible." Krystal conceded. "But the likelihood of that is astronomical. It is much more logical to assume that they were caught in the crossfire, in which case Venom would be the most likely instigator."

"Do you think there are more up there?" Miyu inquired, gesturing upwards generally as she chose to gloss over the vixen's good point.

"It's entirely possible."

"Wonder what that means for us." Arden spoke up from his seated position by his soldiers. The lupine had obviously decided that if they were not allowed their weapons they could at least take a moment to rest.

Seeing this, Krystal decided to follow his example, plopping down with her back against a wall as Miyu reluctantly did the same opposite her.

"Don't know, but I doubt it's going to be anything good." The feline responded.

While the other two talked, Krystal's gaze followed the injured alien as the medic helped him down the hallway, back where they had come from. The male seemed to pause at the corner, looking back to her with what she hoped was a smile before he at last disappeared.

Despite what had and might occur after this, she was glad to have been able to help someone for once. It had been a good long while since she had used her talents for anything other than war. So it was heartening to see that she could still use her abilities for the better.

Minutes slowly dragged by as they rested, the alien's retaining a close vigil over their guests. Keeping a wide space from her and the others, they were apparently content to watch them from a distance, occasionally a brief pass of their peculiar language would be exchanged between them, no doubt still coming to terms with this situation, something neither side could have ever hoped to anticipate.

To be honest with herself, Krystal was surprised at how well each group was handling it, having expected an explosive reaction rather then the cautious, but level-headed approach they seem to have taken thus far. It would appear that reason had prevailed over more baser instincts. A fortunate circumstance as she rather liked the whole "being alive" business. If she survived this, it would make for a good story to tell, the time she made first contact with a new species during a most uncertain point in their people's history.

These aliens were fascinating creatures, similar in many regards to a cornerian, if a bit larger, and tending to lean more to the hefty side. With Arden being the tallest amongst them and above the average, even his stature was inferior to that of the smallest of these aliens.

The dark skinned one was a giant, perhaps six spans in height and cut a rather intimidating figure, a factor that was enhanced by the wieldy and heavyset weapon in his gauntlets. Like its owner, it too was bigger then CDF standard issue and she wondered just what they used in their arms.

As she studied the interesting male, she took note of a curious development, watching as the ebon alien raised a gauntlet to its head, expression indicating he was listening to something rather unpleasant. A scowl soon developed as he turned to regard her group, speaking harshly into the open air. Yet it seemed to lessen fractionally over time, a heavy exhale taking its place as he nodded and lowered his arm.

Krystal was kept wondering for some time as to what had caused this, her answer arriving in the form of another group of aliens, all dressed and armored like those she had seen so far. Miyu and the rest of the group tense at the new arrivals, the feline shooting Krystal a glare of _"I told you so"._

However, once more it appeared as if they were not hear to claim their lives, rather they spoke quickly with the leader before hurriedly marching past her and the others, down the corridor they had first come from with a grimness befit of soldiers heading into battle. Despite an understandably measure of caution, these hardened soldiers had little reaction to their presence.

The vixen wondered only briefly as to what had caused this occurrence before she remembered what it was they had been running from. It only made sense that the Venomians would find them. After all... all they had to do was follow the smoke.

"Shit." Miyu growled, undoubtedly coming to the same conclusion as the fox.

"What do we do?" Arden asked.

"Well we have to warn them somehow." Krystal decided. "Those Venomian soldiers won't have come here to spread peace and goodwill. They probably won't know that until it's too late."

"Alright... how?" Miyu turned to the vixen for an answer, seeing as she had been making all the decisions as of late.

Krystal studied her surroundings, searching for anything that might help her achieve her goal. Inspiration struck as her eyes landed on a blaster by her feet, the female thankful the aliens had either forgotten or refrained from confiscating their equipment.

The vixen flagged down the attention of the dark skinned guard with a directed wave of her paw. The alien paused its conversation with one of its companions to glare at her, curiosity and mistrust flaring brightly in its mind.

Making sure not to make any overtly hostile movements, she slowly reached for the weapon, praying that they would understand.

* * *

Sergeant Taylor frowned at the sight before him, finger tightening ever so slightly on the trigger of his assault rifle as the alien that had just waived to him reached for one of their weapons. After receiving information from the LT that the newly reactivated scanners identified a whole shitstorm of activity heading to their crashed ship, he was understandably on high alert. If not for the previous warning, he would have ended its attempt with a single armor piercing round to its sloped forehead. Instead, he merely continued to watch in wary confusion as it held up the gun and gestured somewhat actively with it, unable to make heads or tales of what it was trying to convey to him.

"Corporal, just what in the hell is this... thing, doing?" He looked to his subordinate for advice.

"Well Sarge... I can't answer for a definite, but it looks like it's trying to tell us something."

The marine of African descent rolled his eyes. "Excellent skills of deduction, Varo. You're a real Sherlock Holmes. I am utterly mystified why you have yet to ascend to the officer core with that kind of intuition."

Varo wilted at the Sergeant's scathing words, the likes of which he had become quite used to hearing.

"I think I know, Sir!" A helpful voice interjected.

Shifting his withering glare from the unfortunate man to the other soldier beside him, Taylor gestured impatiently for him to continue. "Well don't wait for hell to freeze over, Ramirez."

The young marine shrunk under the powerful stare, suddenly finding himself scrambling for his lost nerve.

"Well... uh, Sir, I believe it's trying to warn us of something."

"And what pray tell, would that something be, Private?" The Sergeant demanded, unwavering in his hostile disposition. Meanwhile, the alien had suspended its movements in favor of watching the disgruntled debate between the three men.

"I... think," Ramirez scratched at the neck of his chestplate nervously, well aware of the unpleasant consequences should he fail to articulate himself correctly. "I think it may be warning us of other... hostile aliens that is, Sir."

"And you have inferred this how, Private?" Sergeant Taylor inquired with an obvious air of skepticism.

"Charades, Sir."

"Charades?" The squad leader could not keep the sheer mystification from his tone.

"Yes, Sir." Ramirez answered with a weak nod. "My family and I used to play on the weekends."

A vein pulsed vividly on the dark skinned soldier, quite an amazing feat considering his ebony pigmentation. However, rather then explode on the young marine as he might have in any sane situation, he instead decided on a less volatile response.

With a sigh, Taylor reached for the comm bead inside his helmet.

"Bravo-1 Actual, be advised." He glanced tersely at the young marine before continuing. "New... Intel, suggests approaching vectors may in fact be hostile. Recommend you boys stay in cover and dig in. How copy?"

The faint buzz of a response could be heard in their respective headsets as a boisterous, yet familiar voice answered. "Received loud and clear Alpha-1, hunkering down. Don't you worry T, we'll make sure to roll out the welcome mat."

"Just keep your eyes peeled Hank. I don't want to have to bail your ass out a second time."

"Ah, but the first time was a fluke, T. I just tripped was all."

"On a landmine?"

"Dastardly things."

"Just keep your damn head down." Taylor's eyes rolled once more of their own volition.

The Sergeant cut the signal before he could hear the other man's chuckle.

"Idiot."

Ramirez looked to the sarge hoping for some form of pat on the back, but was instead treated to a gruff mutter. "Private."

"Yes, Sir?"

"Since you seem to consider yourself some kind of dog whisperer, I am now putting you in charge over our resident fluff bags. Keep an eye on them. And if they try anything... I order you not to die."

"But, where will you be, Sir?" Varo wondered fretfully, casting uneasy glances at the small pack of aliens.

"Me, myself, and I, Corporal, will be heading back up to speak with the LT about forming some kind of defense in case these new fur bags prove to be an issue."

"But..."

"Are you insinuating that my decision, mind you that is the declaration of your superior officer, is worthy of debate, Corporal.?" There was a dangerous gleam in the Arcadian's eyes.

"No, Sir. Not at all, Sir." Varo stuttered out with admirable haste as his face paled considerably.

"Good. Because I would be thoroughly disappointed to learn that two of humanities' best and brightest were unable to dog sit. See, that would make me a most disagreeable man. And you know I am quite an agreeable fellow."

"Of course, Sir." Both men replied, hastily throwing up salutes as if that would ward away the Sergeant's ire.

"Excellent," The ebon skinned man grinned, an action that was not as relieving as one might expect. "Then I leave Private Ramirez in command for the interim until I return. And if these alien fuck heads do indeed mark themselves as enemies of the UNSC, it will be our god given pleasure to drop a reckoning upon their heads to rival that of the almighty himself. Is that clear?"

"As crystal, Sir." Ramirez nodded, the Sergeant's words injecting him with a small boost of confidence.

"Then can I get a oorah?"

Both marines answered with a throaty proclamation, dual fists thumping loudly against their armored torsos.

Sergeant Taylor responded with a terse nod of satisfaction before he swiveled on his heels and marched down the corridor leading back up to their temporary command post. As much as he berated them on a daily basis, he was confident they would conduct themselves well in his absence.

After all, they were goddamn marines.

* * *

Miyu groaned, slanted irises revolving in their sockets as she did. "Males." Krystal heard her mutter under her breath at the undeniably testosterone fueled antics of the aliens.

The vixen smiled, no small part of her glad that they seemed to have understood her, and more so that she had not had her life prematurely cut short with her risky gambit.

"At least some things appear to be universal." Krystal giggled at her comrade's expense, merely glad that as of yet no one had been hurt in this exchange. After the harrowing events that lead them here, not fighting for you life was a pleasant change of pace.

"So, if the venomains are here, you think these aliens will be able to hold them back?" Arden piped up from his reclined position on a far wall, paws idily threading together in what Krystal assumed to be boredom. How the lupine remained so calm in such a situation as the one they found themselves in was nothing less than impressive.

"If they can it won't be for long. The bastards will drown this ship in corpses before they'll let their quarry escape." Miyu chimmed in morosely. The feline had first paw experience in seeing just how far the soldiers of Venom were willing to go. They were without a doubt the worst military force in the system, but that did not matter as they were fueled by a never ending machine of fanatical martyrs. No one knew what Andross did to the destitute death world he had been banished to, but the results were undeniable. Where once was a desolate, hostile planet plagued by a corrosive atmosphere and harsh acid wastes, now stood a thriving empire that rivaled and threatened to overthrow a democracy etched in a millennia of noble antiquity.

"So... the situation hasn't really changed." The wolf sighed, paw scratching at an ear irritably.

"Nope, still boned."

"At least we're out of the sun." Krystal pointed out cheerfully.

"There is that." Arden admitted with a forced chuckle.

"Meh, I suppose there are worse ways to clock out." Miyu figured as she made herself comfortable on the deck, amber eyes studying the pair of uneasy aliens standing guard over them. "Makes you wonder what they're thinking about. They have to be feeling pretty cornered right now. Just imagine, crash landing on a planet full of aliens gridlocked in a intersystem war with no way out. That'll shake even the staunchest hearts."

"Is that sympathy I hear." Krystal teased.

"Not so much sympathy as understanding." Miyu admitted with a shrug. "Assuming they are innocent as you claim, I have to feel some kind of guilt for dragging them into our mess."

The feline had a point. It was hard to admit, but their war with Venom was in all accounts, a small conflict in what was turning out to be a larger galactic community. It was unfortunate that first contact with a new species was tarnished by their current state of affairs, doubly so that they unwittingly were dragged into it.

"I wonder how it's going up there." Krystal's gaze pulled upwards, as if her vision could pierce the layers of alien hull, past the sky to the battle no doubt raging above them.

"Last transmission from Fox said they were still holding strong. Though after so long... who can tell what's happening up there." Miyu picked at a claw as she pondered. "Not much point in worrying about something we can't affect. I'd say for now we just content ourselves with our own problems."

"Agreed." Arden nodded.

"Alright." Krystal conceded reluctantly. The lynx was right once more, and the vixen was glad that she was not alone here. However, she could not help but feel worried for the others. Were they still alive up there? Was anyone? Or had Venom finally managed to achieve what they desired. For her future as well as her friends. She hoped that was not true.

All she could do was hope and pray.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3: Blue and Black

 **UNSC** _ **Errant King,**_ **uncharted system.**

 **October 20** **th** **, 2524**

 **Forty-five minutes, post-contact**

"MAC impacts in three... two... we have confirmed MAC strikes."

Matthias watched in uneasy anticipation as the weapons officer's countdown hit zero, the magnetic accelerator cannon slugs manifesting as vibrant streaks of light barreling across space at a fraction of the speed of light, the ship still rumbling moments after their discharge. Traveling at 4,000 kilometers in the time it took to blink, the trio of ultra-heavy MAC rounds from the supercarrier found their targets in seconds.

All three were met with dazzling results.

Magnetic Accelerator Cannons are the pride of any UNSC warship large enough to accommodate them and were the most powerful non-nuclear option available in humanity's arsenal. A single shot from the superstructure spanning coil guns yielded enough force to cripple any starship smaller than a fleet carrier. However there were drawbacks to utilizing such powerful weaponry, as few and afar as they may be.

The reloading process was lengthy by naval battle standards, the magnetic rails having to be realigned and the next shell loaded into the barrel, precious minutes that could make or break most void engagements. And as each round was an unguided munition, without the analytical computing process of a military-grade Artificial Intelligence, the accuracy of the cartridge suffered greatly.

Yet even with those minimal faults, nothing quite beat the majestic experience of watching a MAC strike in real time.

Each of the ferromagnetic-tungsten slugs hit their marks with a yield of more than 100 kilotons. The three cruiserweight vessels, though protected by some technological means beyond the current scope of UNSC comprehension, proved wholly incapable of deflecting a strike of that magnitude. Shields simply ceased to exist and alien hulls were utterly vaporized under the extreme kinetic force exerted upon them. The after effects of the colossal blasts ensured further chaos, shockwaves dissipating through the local space knocked other ships off course and threw the hostile element into utter disarray. However this proved to be a blessing in disguise for the enemy.

Though the Admiral's grimace lightened at the display of human superiority, it darkened considerably not moments later. The smaller coil guns on the cruisers and destroyers of his own fleet were of a lower caliber, receiving somewhat less than satisfactory results and were quick to dissuade his earlier thoughts of supremacy. Of the alien warships pushed out of position, most escaped harm as the unguided munitions passed through space that once had been occupied. Though not all were as fortunate. Most depleted uranium slugs did hit their targets, to an admittedly lukewarm reception.

The shields on the larger, cruiserweight alien starships held, though the strain they had endured was visible as they flickered erratically in the void, each impacted vessel listing aimlessly as their forward momentum had been violently stunted by the overwhelming inertia of the depleted uranium cartridges. Their smaller cousins faired far worse, gutted by massive shells that tore through the heart of angular hulls with impressive efficiency.

Over all, Matthias supposed he could not really complain at the end result of their first volley. Of the fifteen MAC capable vessels, nine had landed hits with seven confirmed kills. Tally in the supercarrier's ultra-heavy cannons and that raised the total to ten, a near quarter of the force arrayed against them.

He sighed in resignation.

 _Could have been worse I suppose._

As displeased as he was with the results, he did find it fascinating to observe the enemy fleet's reaction as it unfolded before him on the tactical holo-map. While they did not draw to a full stop, their advance slowed considerably, nearly stalling in the void. Matthias could only imagine the confused flurry that no doubt consumed their opposition. He had after all endured that himself not all that long ago.

This provided him with an opportunity he had no qualms with exploiting, the Admiral turning to the wall of tactical consoles to his left. "Arm archer missile pods A-1 through E-1. I want firing solutions on the three closest cruiser analogues. Ensign Romanov, establish comms with _The Troy_. I want that Paris pack to focus fire on the frigates. Don't let them close range with our colony ships. Richard, how long till the MACs are back online?"

"Slugs are loaded, rails are realigned and reactors are charging, Admiral. Cannons will be fully armed in six minutes."

Matthias' answering nod was a grim one. Six minutes was a long interval in a fleet action, and the flow of battle could change in any manner of ways in that small frame of time. From the approximations fed to his command console via the radar and LADAR operatives, the enemy could close into suspected weapons range in three. They did not know the capabilities of these aliens' technology, unaware of how far their weapons reached. Three minutes was the safest estimate they could give him.

But that was fine.

He could work with that.

"Admiral, hostile strike craft on intercept!"

The alien fleet at last attained the resolve they had lost in the form of a full assault using their starfighters. Matthias watched the tide of black and red surge forwards with reckless abandon, reluctant to admit that the near suicidal aggression shown in their fervor was undeniably intimidating. He could only assume that after such a destructive first volley, they would hasten to silence the deadly cannons.

He could not afford to let that happen.

It was time to unleash the hounds.

"All longsword squadrons have permission to engage."

His order related with a swiftness born of countless tactical drills, Matthias watched as the second phase of this orbital engagement commenced, the holomap flickering as each squadron of interceptors lunged forwards to do battle. A rolling tide of red contacts swarming out to meet the arrowhead shaped flights of organized UNSC longswords. The ratio of human to alien strike craft leaned heavily in their favor, which came to Matthias as only mildly comforting as they were still firmly outnumbered in terms of fleet strength.

It was with great regret that he recalled the admiralty turning down his request for the inclusion of an Epoch-class carrier for the fleet. The addition of another heavy-carrier had, at the time, been deemed both unnecessary and an excessive waste of limited resources by both the UEG and HIGHCOM.

He could have used an excessive waste of limited resources right about now.

"Admiral, longswords have engaged."

Matthias regard for the tactical fleet console before him was unnecessary with the bridge's wide spanning viewport offering him a more visually intensive medium to witness the first naval clash of human and alien forces in recorded history. Even with the clear view and his experienced eye, Matthias still had difficulty in piercing the whirlwind of lasers, missiles, and tracer fire that enveloped the scope of the viewport's vision. It was reminiscent of a sight he had not laid witness to since the catastrophic siege of _Sigmus IV_ , one he had hoped never to see again in his lifetime, a maelstrom of violence that has since never been enacted on such a grand scale.

These alien fighters were swift and nimble, putting to shame the proud workhorse of the UNSC fleet, the sizeable interceptors seemingly cumbersome and unwieldy in comparison. Though small in stature, their weaponry bridged the gap of their diminutive nature.

Unquestionably deadly, the high powered directed energy melted straight through inches of hardened titanium battleplate with unnerving ease. If they survived this battle, he could tell that the fleet's longsword contingent would suffer heavy, possibly crippling casualties.

But this was not to undercut or demean the skill and worth of the humanities' ships and pilots. The longsword has been the staple and mainstay for the UNSC's fleets not without reason. Its sheer potential for destruction was only outweighed by its durability. The aliens would find no easy prey here. This battle would hardly be one-sided. Cannon shells and guided missiles rocketed through the void in retaliation. Humanity's munitions would not be denied or outclassed, reaping a fearsome tally amongst the seemingly poorly trained alien pilots and their relatively light starships.

With a grim determination, Matthias turned away from the fierce fighter duels, to the approaching alien fleet. His forces had spread out in loose formation, a configuration one could call antiquated, but no less tactically viable, that he had learned from his academy days. When faced with a numerically superior foe, to cluster together was to die. Each ship was close enough to the other to offer fire support, but not so close as to be targeted in the same volleyed exchange. He would have split his fleet into smaller packs, but with the colonial assets they harbored, each of the three Phoenix Retrofits had to be protected.

"Bring the corvette picket up to support the longswords, and open archer silos. I want to be ready to fire the moment they are in range. Seal bulkheads on all non-critical decks and prep damage teams." Belting out orders bred of experience, the Admiral wondered just how his fleet would fare on this battle's conclusion.

"Contact The Midsummer's Solace, I want a status update."

Hopefully there would be some good news on that front.

* * *

"So can we count these aliens as hostile now, Sir?" Corporal Reece's query carried over the expansive desert canyon floor to the ears of his superior officer, one very obstinate Sergeant by the name of Hank.

"Shut your trap Reece, before I close it fer ya." He growled, the ire in his voice losing most of its fury as he was forced to throw himself in a scramble for cover to avoid the hail of lasers that zeroed in on his voice.

 _Join the marines they said, see the stars they said, it'll make a man out of you they said._

Hank contained his inner grumbling and slapped a fresh magazine into his rifle. If these alien bastards wanted a fight, that's exactly what they would get. The assholes hadn't even had the courtesy to open a dialogue before opening fire on his unit from a concealed position.

Myers had the unfortunate opportunity to test the armor-piercing capabilities of enemy technology after Hank watched a laser punch right through his standard issue body armor, folding the kid in like a goddamn deck of cards. Since then his squad had been afraid to even peek out from behind their makeshift barricades, firing blindly in the general direction of their foe and hoping that they would hit something.

Since the opening moments of the firefight, Hank had only managed to acquire a fleeting glimpse of the enemy, and as far as he could tell, they were bipedal, and probably looked a lot like their guests on board the ship.

 _Goddamn cartoon animals._

He wasn't a science nerd so he hadn't bothered to acquire a deeper understanding of the enemy than the fact they could be killed. He'd leave that junk to the eggheads, but he was certain the one alien he had managed to hit was dead, simultaneously discovering that their blood was remarkably similar to a human's, if a somewhat lighter shade.

He couldn't get a read on how many were left, but judging from the ridiculous volume of fire bearing down on them, his small, depleted squad was severely outnumbered, and from the penetrating power of these energy rifles, outgunned.

 _Of course while I'm getting my ass shot off, Taylor gets to play babysitter._

He still wasn't one hundred percent clear on the situation, before his squad came down, it had been radioed to their little command post in the galley that they had a couple uninvited guests of the third kind. If this had been any other situation, he might have laughed at the terrible joke, but he had learned very quickly once they existed slipspace that everything onwards from that point was the kind of real that shoved itself in your face and kneed you in the balls.

So after receiving a conformation ping from the near inoperable sensors that unidentified contacts were on the approach, he had offered his squad to investigate, only getting a brief look at the peculiar creatures huddled in a broken down access corridor. Other than Taylor, he was the only marine of high rank on the ship with actual battlefield experience, and there for the most qualified to undertake the task.

Those bastards in the UEG sent the _"disposables"_ on this voyage, a horde of young ignorant fools all clamoring for the _"adventure of a lifetime"_ the brass shoved down their throats with skillfully crafted propaganda. Damn kids barely knew how to grip a rifle properly and they were already fighting for their lives against a threat no human had ever faced before.

So it was no surprise Hank considered it a blessing they had only taken an estimate of forty percent casualties since the start of this enormous clusterfuck, an estimate that was sure to rise sharply before this was all over.

"Henrik, Kessler, grab the LMG off Myers and find yourselves a flanking position on these bastards! Victor, get them some covering fire… and keep your damn heads down!" He didn't want another death like Myers' on his hands. They were already too few as is.

They would fight to hold this position, and by god they would. Hank just wasn't sure how long they could keep it. If the fleet didn't come back for them… well, no matter how defendable their position was, they were only staving off certain death. Most of their medical and nutritional supplies had been deemed irrecoverable after the crash and each marine only had the ammunition already on their person. So even if they beat back the aggressors by some divine miracle, they wouldn't have the resources to last for more than a few hours if they managed their supply well enough.

"Come on you extraterrestrial motherfuckers," The marine shouldered his rifle with steely determination and forced himself out of cover, a thunderous barrage of tungsten steel washing over the rocky outcroppings scattered about the combat zone, praying that at least one would find its mark.

"You'll have to work for it."

* * *

By now, the sounds of battle echoed through the voluminous corridors, grating on the nerves of both Krystal's party and those of the alien's left behind to guard them. The pair of sentries appeared uneasy, occasionally glancing down the passageway the other squad had charged down some half-hour or so past, clearly wishing they were out there helping, or perhaps most likely, that they were anywhere else but where they were.

Most of the cornerians present could not help but feel the same, and some measure of guilt as well at the knowledge that they had brought this conflict to this alien race; that they were fighting and dying as a result of their people's conflicting ideals.

There was also the awareness that their fates were closely intertwined with one another. If the aliens failed to fight of the Venomian army, their graves would be dug right beside them, or rather given Venom's ignorance of modern military conventions, stacked in the same pile.

"We have to do _something_!" Miyu growled in quiet frustration, the feline's claws flicking in and out of their sheathes, fueled by the itching desire to fight. She was a female of action and did not take well to spectating.

"What would you suggest we do?" Arden inquired with his usual placid demeanor, the war hardened lupine hardly seemed fazed by anything they had come across, but that was to be expected of a veteran of the first war.

"We fight!" The feline declared with absolute certainty, smacking a furred fist into an open palm. "I refuse to sit here and wait to be hunted down by those bastards. If we're to go out, I say we do it on our feet, with a blaster in our paws."

"I'm about ready to fight and die as anyone, but perhaps there is a way we can stave that off." Krystal butted in with no small manner of amusement.

"Yeah, and what would that be?"

In answer, the female fox shifted her thoughtful gaze to the two alien soldiers watching over them.

"Well… if it worked the first time."

* * *

It was hard for Sergeant Taylor to not feel desperation as he studied the jury-rigged, tactical holo-map they had established in the corvette's galley. One of the technicians had survived the crash and had been able to scavenge what was left of the bridge's electronics and its strategic charting systems to create their improvised command center, and as battered as the sensors were, they were still functional enough to unmistakably pinpoint just how outnumbered and utterly fucked their debilitated forces were. The fact they had been able to somewhat successfully have radio contact with the other survivors was only a small boon that did little to help with their dire situation.

Through garbled transmissions they had warned the scattered crew away from the corvette. Seeing as they were most likely going to lose this position and the ship, they were better off hiding in the desert where their chances of rescue and extraction might actually be higher.

By now word had trickled up the shipwrecked vessel that they were trapped within an encircling 360 degree arc of hostile forces. The marine unit that had been sent outside was already under heavy fire, and would likely be unable to hold their current position. Their numbers were too few, and the corvette too large to adequately defend with the limited resources at their disposal. If they had a hundred more men they could do it, if they had armor at their disposal they might have been able to fend the hostiles off, if reinforcements were guaranteed, they would have been able to hold their ground.

Those were a lot of ifs, all unlikely to come true.

To be honest, Taylor and the Lieutenant had been discussing plans to overload the corvette's fusion reactor to prevent these aliens from getting their filthy hands on UNSC technology, and to take out as many of the bastards as they could before going out with a respectable bang.

At least that had been their plan before the Sergeant's radio buzzed into life.

"What now, Varo?" He grunted in exasperation, only halfheartedly paying attention to the comms device as his eyes strained for any sort of advantage on the battle map arrayed before him, the Lieutenant likewise as focused on their dire circumstances.

 _+"Uh… sir, I think I have some news."+_ The uncertain voice of the young marine rumbled from within the man's comms bead

"Think Son? Do you or do you not have something worth wasting my damn time?"

 _+"Well, the aliens are doing that weird thing they did earlier, only a little different, and Ramirez believes he can understand them again."+_

It took all of the Sergeant's willpower not to take off and throttle his helmet. Taking a colossal deep breath, the man instead forced down his considerable annoyance. They didn't have damn time to be playing games with the circus freaks. They had a battle to survive.

"What, Private, in all the wondrous mysteries of the universe, did Ramirez our most illustrious interpreter have to say this time."

 _+"He says they want to fight, Sir."+_

Of all the nonsensical, improbable responses he had all but expected, this one had managed to catch him off-guard nonetheless. The Lieutenant, who had been ignoring the conversation in favor of their most immediate crisis, now shifted his gaze over to the Sergeant with a similarly baffled expression on his face.

The older man had been made aware of their peculiar guests, but with the precariousness of their situation, they had been so far down his list of concerns as to not even register fully on his mind as to the exact ramifications of what they truly entailed. Sufficient to say however, he now found it quite worthy of his attention, as certain things ponderously budged and clicked in his mind, rusted gears laboriously shifting into motion.

"The aliens want to… what?" The grizzled commander demanded with a consternated expression that might have been humorous if not for the gravity of their current state of affairs.

 _+"Fight, Sir. Ramirez says they want to fight."+_

The Sergeant was of analogous thought on the matter. "Is this some kind of joke, private? If so, I am thoroughly unamused."

 _+"No, Sir. No joke."+_ The private's tone was absent of any humor. In fact, it was quite serious.

"You're not joking." Sergeant Taylor stated matter-of-factly as he came to realize that this was indeed the truth and not some ill-timed prank. The first words he expected to expel from his mouth were not suitable for the ears of a man, or indeed any sapient living creature in this universe. Yet as he readied to tear the young marine a new verbal asshole, he was halted by the contemplative guise that had come over the Lieutenant's once concerned visage.

"Sir, you cannot be serious." The Sergeant voiced his dissatisfaction and disbelief that his superior would even dain to consider such a foolhardy suggestion. The thought of rearming the aliens on their ship was purely absurd!

"Well, we are quite outnumbered here." The older man answered with a sardonic, near apologetic grin.

"Yes, by aliens, who I need not remind you, are the very creatures you have even considered the possibility of arming!" He shot back with a growl.

"Yet, by all your accounts and those of the ensign you recovered, they are actually quite amiable, and even cooperative to a surprising extent as your vocal report stated." The Lieutenant countered with quick wit and a sharp, mischievous gleam in his eyes, all pretense of whimsy seemingly evaporated instantly, in favor of blunt pragmatism.

"I will not bandy words, Sergeant. I have neither the time nor inclination to do so. At current estimates, estimates you devised with me, we are all going to die, regardless of any decision within our power to make. If this man believes these aliens intend to help us fight, then by all means let them share in our passing. I will not turn down willing bodies to keep those bastards of our ship for even a few minutes longer. If they have a grudge with their fellows, who are we to stand in their way, and if they decide to stick a knife in our ribs…"

He shrugged casually.

"We're all dead men anyways."

* * *

Krystal watched uncertainly as one of the guards, the shorter, lighter toned individual, reached down to one of the blasters lying discarded on the deck. Her emerald irises continued to cautiously study the male as he carefully lifted the weapon and took a step towards her.

Instinctively, the vixen's fur bristled as the alien neared, what her subconscious picked up as a threat. Yet she managed, with no small force of will, to take hold of her fear within the firm grasp of discipline, staring straight back at the approaching alien and its unusual expression.

His blunted teeth flashed into sight as the male's flat muzzle split into what she hoped was a reassuring grin, its gloved appendage lowering the blaster down towards her in what would seem to be an offer for her to take it.

Krystal found herself reaching out for the weapon, almost impulsively, her mind not fully in the present as it worried away at how completely unusual their entire situation was. Here the aliens were, not an hour after disarming them, returning the very weapons they had confiscated. Her awareness was still not entirely reconciled with the full implications.

"Thank you." The vixen mumbled softly as she wrapped her paws around the frame of the weapon and transferred it to a resting position in her arms, taking comfort in its familiar weight. The alien did not respond to her, though it's 'smile' had widened noticeable.

The other one, this male of stockier build and darker flesh, emitted a low rumble that must have been laughter as it grunted out a handful of guttural syllables in its foreign tongue, swiftly eliciting a reaction from its compatriot in form of a fist impacting the taller one's shoulderplate. This only brought forth an even more pronounced chuckle from the male.

As Krystal watched their interactions, she felt a faint grin tug at her own muzzle, the sight of something as familiar as joking comradery, with something so utterly alien as these creatures, did much to offer her some relief and provoke a pale sliver of trust in these individuals, their actions helping them appear more like lylatians.

"Looks like my idea worked again." The vixen turned to Miyu with a confident smirk, to which the feline merely shrugged with a huff and scooped up her own weapon as the other CDF soldiers emulated her action.

"I'm just waiting for the day your luck runs out."

"May that day never come…" Arden prayed, the barest trace of a smile lingering as he followed suit.

Once the entire party was equipped once more, Krystal turned to what she considered to be the friendlier of the two aliens, gesticulating in a way that she hoped he understood, signifying that they were ready to depart.

The alien nodded in conformation, motioning in turn to indicate that they were to follow him and his companion down the corridor, towards the sounds of battle.

* * *

"Man, Sarge was right. You really are the dog whisperer."

"Shut up, Varo." Ramirez growled, blushing furiously in embarrassment as he slugged his companion in the arm. "Keep your trap shut or I'll blab to Chrissie about your little midnight rendezvous with Allisson."

The color drained from his friend's face, his laugh dying on his lips.

"You wouldn't." He gasped in horror.

"Note to self," Ramirez muttered, reaching into a magazine pouch on his armor where he withdrew a maltreated notepad and dwarfish number 2 pencil, scribbling onto the yellowed paper as he mumbled to himself. "Inform Chrissie that Varo is a cheating As-"

"Alright, alright, no more jokes." The man exclaimed hurriedly, glancing around as if the woman was standing right beside him. "Just do your thing so we can get moving."

"Right…" Ramirez turned away from his friend, stuffing away his notepad to watch the aliens, seeing that they had already prepared themselves. For a moment he wondered at just how perfectly they suited that word, alien. The science fiction movies of his youth had not prepared him for real first contact. For one, these creature from outer space, were not dwarves with a skin disorder and pupils that were far too large for their bulbous eyes, nor were they monstrous tentacle armed abominations. They were in fact, relatively humanlike, different from the typical image of an alien that society had seemed to cultivate over the thousands of years they had speculated on extraterrestrial life.

They stood about as tall as a man and carried near all the familiar traits one could identify a human by. They had five fingers on each hand, though they were not as long and did not look to be as dexterous. He assumed they had an equal amount of toes as well. Well-proportioned eyes with familiar, identifiable colors to their irises were centered right above their snout. Skeletal structure appeared identical, but for the off-shooting tails and elongated muzzles so commonly associated with Terran mammals of the canid and feline family trees, and like such species, their skin was hidden away by fully encompassing coats of fur.

But he was getting way too far ahead of himself. They had a job to do, and he could not afford to waste valuable time pondering on life's mysteries, regardless of his mild high school interest in biology.

The alien he had interacted with most, the female fox, made what looked like a sign that they were ready, and seeing as they had no reason to postpone, Ramirez made a similar action for them to follow as he led the way down the corridor they had originated from.

Most of the breaches in the hull were thankfully sectioned off to the upper levels, with only one low enough to the ground for any sort of traffic to enter or exit through the downed ship. That was where the first squad had headed towards, and where they were slated to join them. Hopefully, with the added help of their guests, they would stand a better chance of holding the position.

If not, he hoped these aliens had a plan to get themselves out of here, because the ship and its crew would be screwed.

* * *

 _+"Sergeant, friendly reinforcements are coming down to our position. Command advises we check fire, those aliens are coming with them, and it seems as if they're packing heat. Alpha-1 says not to light em up. Apparently they're here to assist."+_

Sending a burst of fire down range to drop one of the hostiles, some kind of reptilian that spurted a rather satisfying squirt of crimson fluid, Sergeant Hank first thought he must have heard that incorrectly, perhaps a glitch in the comms system.

The squad was scattered about the palisades off steel and rock centered about the corvette's hull breach. Since the start of the engagement, comms had been rather fickle so he was almost certain his original thesis must be the case. "What was that, please verify."

 _+"Order's verified, this comes straight from the Lieutenant."+_

"Dammit!" The Sergeant snarled, a crimson bolt of energy blasting the dilapidated chunk of hull plate he was using as cover, punching a new hole amidst the slew of others that had quickly appeared since he shifted from the nearly molten boulder he had hidden behind not so long ago. Pretty soon he was going to have to find somewhere else to take shelter.

Offering a returning volley of bullets, he hunkered down and looked towards the rear of their thinly held position. He did not like this idea, no way in hell could it possibly end favorably for them.

Hank wasn't in the business of getting shot in the back.

"Reece, Kessler, you're up. Head to the breach and keep an eye on our 'reinforcements'. Henrik, if that LMG stops firing for more than twelve seconds, I will personally walk across the battlefield and kick you in the ass!"

The two marines broke away from the strained firing position his squad had managed to hastily create, ducking and weaving through the piles of rock and scrap in a mad dash to accomplish their objective or face the Sergeant's wrath. Meanwhile, the light machine gun roared into life with newfound ferocity.

Hearing the nearby, telltale hissing chatter he had come to recognize as the language the reptilian creatures' used, Hank shuffled in his tac-vest, hand wrapping around a smooth, spherical device.

"Better be a damn good one." He grumbled, yanking the pin on his last frag and tossing the grenade at a high angle to come rolling down a steep slope towards the source of the alien babble.

A deafening roar momentarily split the war-torn atmosphere, a blistering wave of heat washing over the crouched soldier. The Sergeant let out a gasp of surprise as something heavy and wet splattered loudly as it bounced off his helmet to flop on the sand beneath him.

He glanced down.

A bloodied, severed hand stared silently back at him, the clawed and scaled appendage having nothing to say of the body it must have been attached to, or in how many locations it might currently be in.

Hank shrugged.

"Not bad I suppose."

 _+"Sarge, I have eyes on friendlies."+_ Kessler's stoic voice rumbled in his ear.

"And the aliens?"

 _+"They're with two marines. Hard to gauge, but they don't appear to be hostile towards them."+_

He scoffed.

"Right, well we'll see about that."

 _+"Orders, Sir?"+_

"Just keep an eye on them, make sure we aren't gonna find ourselves flanked. You have permission to target them if you notice any unusual activity. I'll leave the interpretation to your discretion." He felt more at ease knowing that their 'allies' would be watched.

Hank reached for his vest, pulled out a new magazine, and prepped to slap it in when he heard a strange sound emit from behind him that for some odd reason kindled an old memory. The man faintly recalled a family trip he had taken to the Juarez mountain range on _Jericho III_ , sometime during the small planet's winter. Something had awoken him at night. An abrupt _crack_ had split the silent evening air. The unexpected and violent explosion of noise had jarred him from his sleep and kept him awake near all night with fear of the unknown. In the morning, he had learned the strange noise had been caused by a snow laden, and soggy tree branch that had snapped under the weight.

He only remembered this now in the heat of battle because what he had heard was nearly the exact same replica of the noise, though slightly off. It was as if someone had created a hybridization of a sound between the snap of a branch and the jolting clatter of one of those civilian personal defense devices.

Immediately preceding this bizarre resonance, something whipped past his line of sight, leaving a crimson sun spot that trailed across his vision as it struck one of the enemy soldiers in the chest, dropping the reptilian to the dirt in a tangle of slackened limbs.

Hank traced the lingering, after trail that still persisted on his vision, the rubicund trajectory leading all the way back to the barrel of a weapon that belonged to one of the alien's they had unwittingly found themselves harboring. Two amber orbs blazed like beacons with all the fury of a cornered animal as the feline leveled its weapon again, the same sound reoccurring as its rifle claimed another life, and another… and another.

The cat advanced steadily towards their fire position in an assured confidence, laying down a withering barrage of energy with a kind of precision and determination that admittedly impressed the grizzled Sergeant. It was clear to him that this alien in particular had some form of advanced training, perhaps that equivalent to an ODST.

Realizing that he had been staring, the man suitably closed his open jaw and brandished his assault rifle with newfound vigor, unwilling to be outdone by some bipedal feline from outer space. His concerns of betrayal were, for the moment, shelved. That second, right before it fired on the hostiles, would have been the perfect opportunity to stab them in the back, yet it proved through action that it was, for at least this brief interim, aligned with them or at the least shared a likeminded goal, and that would have to be enough.

A relieved, yet reluctant sigh slipped through Hank's lips as the feline and her alien associates joined the defense, significantly bolstering their present staying power in this prolonged skirmish. He may have not liked them, but damn were their guns appreciated. The increase in local fighting power actually gave them a fighting chance, an opportunity he intended to utilize to the full extent of his abilities.

The aliens also appeared to garner some reaction out of the hostiles curiously enough. Upon their arrival, the severity of fire had lessened, and the visible portion of threats had thinned. He didn't know what that signified, whether they were surprised to find fellow whatever-they-were's assisting the aliens, or if it was a more personal intention. Hank, as usual, didn't care about that. What he cared about were results, and that was definitely resulting in something.

"Henrik, shift that machine gun to our three o'clock. I need you to loosen the pressure on Varo and Ramirez."

There was a brief lull in the staccato of machine gun fire as the gunner repositioned, the reignited fury of the LMG giving the two newly arrived marines the time they needed to seek fresh cover and join the fray.

* * *

In the opening seconds that spanned from the moment they stepped out of the downed alien spacecraft to the instant they were seen by the venomian infantry, Krystal had already lost sight of Miyu as the feline disappeared into the melee. The vixen soon found herself left behind as the other CDF soldiers quickly dispersed to take shelter amidst the rocks and scraps of steel littering the open field. Realizing that she had yet to pick a direction and had been left behind, a hesitance that would soon get her killed, Krystal selected a point at random and set out in a dead sprint.

Crossing the field she noticed the two alien soldiers in front of her, recognizing them as the same that had been watching over her group, and seeking some form of familiarity, she hurried to follow them to a pile of boulders that stood around shoulder height.

Pressing her back firmly against the stone, her gaze met the bright hazel eyes of the one she had come to see as the interpreter, his smile still lingering on his stunted stout, though it was visibly strained for obvious reasons.

She returned his smile with one equally strained as she readied her weapon, swiftly locating a venomian soldier and dropping him with a precise burst of fire. The sharp fizzle of blaster bolts and harsh cacophony of the aliens' primitive, yet extraordinarily powerful gunpowder weapons echoed throughout the sonorous ravine, the exclamations of panicked soldiers fought to contest as the small band of CDF warriors fought alongside their alien counterparts in the mutually established goal of survival. Though impeded by the stark language barrier, communication was not solely centered on verbal avowals. Gestures were used freely between the two diverse races to coordinate their efforts to hold the line.

Squad lines were broken as the aliens mingled with the CDF, neither group caring who brushed against their shoulders as long as there was cover to take shelter behind.

Throughout the course of the battle, she fought beside the pair of alien soldiers she was most accustomed too. Both were surprisingly good shots, accounting for the majority of the kills on the side of the defense they were on at any given time. The banter between them was lost on Krystal however, the words used to speak with each other, rendered utterly incomprehensible to her. Yet she took heart in their presence and blatant comradery, glad to see that hope still burned brightly within them, if not herself.

Even as she scored another hit, Krystal could not help but feel that they would not last much longer. The venomians were relentless and their numbers seemed unending, but they fought on nonetheless.

She wasn't clear on how much time passed and she soon found herself shifting around to reinforce other positions on the field, but the venomians eventually thinned out, slowly whittled down by the desperate defenders as they struggled to survive.

They gave it their all, but losses were inevitable in such a fierce engagement, four more cornerian soldiers lost their lives to conflict, and one of the aliens met his end when a grenade bounced under the rock he was hiding behind. However such losses were morbidly light considering how heavily the odds were against them.

When the battle finally concluded, with the last few venomian soldiers disappearing into the cliffs, Krystal finally felt the strain that had accumulated on her muscles and mind. The vixen, gasping and out of breath, leaned into one of the boulders and sagged down to the canyon floor. Her gaze traversed the blood soaked, carbon scored, and bullet riddled landscape, wearily observing the survivors as they too searched for shelter and rest, too tired to worry about anything more than the closest place to rest their head. The pang of unease she felt lessened upon seeing that Miyu had made it through, the feline sitting cross-legged amidst a small group of haggard faced marines and one very uncomfortable looking alien.

The cat's vertically slanted irises centered on Krystal and the feline nodded briefly in acknowledgment before returning to her conversation, the female seemingly recounting her recent exploits to a not particularly enthused crowd.

The vixen curious to find the aliens she fought beside, scanned the battlefield to discern their location. Though utterly unfamiliar, Krystal was certain she would be able to recognize them. The first hint she had to their position was the rapid fire, anxious slurry of chaotic nattering she had come to recognize as the aliens' peculiar speech. Her long ears proved their worth as they quickly swiveled to pinpoint the source of the chatter, identifying the location as not all that far away from her.

Krystal's eyes soon traced the movement of her fuzzy lobes and the vixen sighted the duo she had grown used to. She felt an icy shock jolt her out of her distant reverie as her body threw itself into motion, the female fox scrambling out of her resting position to rush over to the two furless bipeds.

As she moved closer, she felt the weight in her chest grow heavier as she took in the tragic scene. She did not speak their language, but the grasp of their speech was unnecessary in interpreting the wretched happenings in front of her.

A miniature lake of crimson fluid pooled around the figure lying sprawled across the canyon floor, the ruby liquid a glaring contrast against the pale alabaster skin that had once been its owner. The pair of hazel eyes, once vibrant and youthful, were now unseeing and forever open as they dully looked up into the pale blue sky, absent of the animate light that had once occupied them.

Unable to watch the deceased soldier's companion as he mourned his friend, she turned away, knowing that she did not have the right to even offer comfort to the poor soul. Krystal could feel the guilt within her crashing down upon her thoughts with righteous indignation, knowing she was partly responsible for the alien's demise. It was their war that caused this, and any other loss of life from this moment onwards that would befall this race.

A weary exhalation parted from her lips as she walked away, leaving the alien to mourn in peace.

Returning to Miyu, the vixen slowly set herself down beside her friend. The feline offered no peace of mind other than a consolatory pat on the back.

"They'll be back." Krystal knew that they had only won themselves a brief reprieve. It would not be long before the venomians returned, this time with enough troops to overrun their untenable position.

Miyu nodded, tracing an indeterminate pattern in the sand beside her with an idle claw. "Yeah… I know."

"What do we do?"

The cat took some time to answer, her amber yes wandering the corpse ridden battlefield, where both cornerian and alien soldiers alike shared in the dour mood, easily seen by their resolute expressions and slouched shoulders.

"Nothing to really do but fight, and who knows? Maybe our new friends here will pull something out of the hat?" The cat was already impressed by the aliens and their dogged resilience. Stranded on an alien world and huddled in the carcass of their wrecked starship, they still fought on with single-minded ferocity, like cornered lions. If nothing else she could respect that about them. The fact they were all still alive after what seemed like the end was enough to give her hope that they just might survive this.

"Do you think Fox and the others are still alive?"

Miyu had a chuckle at that. "If I know that stubborn tod, he's no doubt planning a way to save our hides at this very moment. All we have to do is make sure there are hides to save when he comes looking for us."

Krystal smiled, though it was weak and halfhearted. "Thanks Miyu, for trying to cheer me up."

"No I mean it, Krysie. For as long as I've known him, Fox has never let me down. He'll come, I'm sure of it. After all, I still owe him a hundred credits."

"Really what for?" Krystal inquired curiously, hoping for anything to draw her thoughts away from the reality of their situation.

"Oh, I lost a bet." The feline answered offhandedly.

"What'd you bet on?"

"You."

"Me?" The vixen was confused.

"Yep, I wagered you wouldn't be able to hash it out with us once you joined on."

Krystal frowned.

Before she could complain, the feline giggled and bumped shoulders with her jokingly.

"Proved me wrong though, didn't ya?" Miyu's grin was the widest Krystal had ever seen it, the cat's pearly fangs sparkling in the sunlight.

The vixen felt her lips twist upwards of their own accord. "Well I… Miyu?" Her smile lessened as she realized that feline was not paying attention to her anymore, her unfocused haze drawing skywards.

Shifting her head to match Miyu's scrutiny, Krystal soon noticed what it was that had so fully captivated the feline's concentration. "What is that?" She wondered aloud.

"Looks like something entering orbit." Miyu answered idly, still fascinated by the strange sight as they both studied the flare of light on the horizon.

"It isn't alone." Krystal realized as the sky lit up moments later with a veritable cloud of orange pinpricks that shone brightly, in spite of the already sunny afternoon haze. It was one of the most fascinating things Krystal had ever seen, as if the stars themselves were blazing in broad daylight.

Their attention was eventually dragged away from the strange sight as something seemed to overcome their extraterrestrial cohorts. The remaining aliens quickly scrambled to their feet, gesticulating and speaking animatedly amongst one another, the surprising and clearly heard tones of relief and hope passing between them like wildfire. The particular one that had been resting with them had what could only be a reinvigorated grin as he stared heavenward.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know." Miyu answered as she looked around at the bolstered alien elements among them. "But I'm thinking it must be good news."

Before Krystal could offer her own input, both she and Miyu turned to face the alien with them as it motioned towards them. Confused, both fox and feline watched as it made several signals with its spindly and pale, furless hands, seemingly urging them to return to the ship.

Still confused, but even more curious, they moved to comply, watching as a similar scene played out amongst the entire group, the aliens herding the cornerians into the shelter of the marooned starship.

There, the small crowd of individuals watched from within as the burning lights drew near.

It was Krystal that heard it first, the undercurrent of sound that slowly built up into a deafening crescendo. A piercing shriek forced the air around them to tremble as a thunderous boom caused those of sensitive hearing to muffle their ears with dampening paws as they watched the sky in awe.

The objects in the sky were close enough now that if Krystal and Miyu strained their eyes they could barely make them out. Even then a blurry afterimage was all they could see as it was nearly impossible to get a good look at the things. They were falling far too fast for even their superior vision to accurately describe what it was they were looking at, but from the brief glimpse they knew that whatever these meteoric objects were, they were roughly in the form of teardrops.

Krystal traced the trajectory of one of the peculiar falling stars, quickly realizing that it was heading towards them. This caused her to panic somewhat as a vision of a flattened vixen filled her mind. She turned to seek refuge deeper in the ship, only to stop upon seeing the unconcerned expressions on the aliens around her. It would seem they did not fear the storm of meteors crashing down towards them.

Against her better judgment, she decided to stay as well, and after turning back around she noticed that the objects were now much closer, and appeared to have slowed down considerably to a less terminal velocity, if still irrationally fast.

She was startled that they had slowed down on their own, knowing that had to mean there was a guiding force behind those strange comets. She turned to Miyu, only to see the feline's muzzle split into an extensive grin, clearly exited with what she was witnessing.

It was then that the first of these falling stars smashed into the ground, and the world itself seemed to crack beneath their feet.

* * *

Liam's world blacked out only momentarily as the drop pod smashed into the planet's surface at near fatal velocity, the veteran ODST's familiarity with the sensation of planetfall allowing him to regain his faculties with impressive speed. It was not unusual for those soldiers new to the helljumpers to black out completely in their first drop. That, along with the lingering _motion sickness,_ as some in the core fondly called it, resulted in most of the casualties inflicted in any given operation.

Those that survived either soon developed a resistance, or they died. Other individuals, such as the Major, learned to hone such a sensation and turn it to their advantage. _The thirty second flare,_ as it was known to more experienced helljumpers.

It's in those first thirty seconds of a drop that the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers truly earn that title, and it is also when they are at their most lethal. Supercharged on adrenalin and led on by pure instinct. Entire battle zones have been cleared in less than a minute in the face of a helljumper drop strike, droves of hostile soldiers slaughtered in a tide of naturally enhanced shock troopers.

It was with this intention in mind that Liam keyed the rapid bolt release for his HEV and slapped the deactivation key on the harness secured to his chest. With the loud clatter of unlatched fastenings he leapt out from within the pod into the unnatural whirlwind of disturbed dust kicked up in the wake of his arrival, peering down the ACOG scope of his modified MA37 as he scanned for targets. But this proved to be futile as there was nothing on his tracker and he could not make anything out in the miasmatic haze of uprooted dirt and sand.

As he waited for the dust to clear he glanced at his HUD's command software, where he could monitor the vital signs of all ninety-nine soldiers under his command. The ODST was pleasantly surprised that his entire unit had managed to make it planetside with no casualties, something that was nearly an unprecedented instance in corps history. But that was perhaps mostly in part due to the experienced technicians aboard the _Solace_ and the lack of a response from any would be hostiles planetside.

Even as he stepped away from his pod, the major was already belting out orders through the comms to the individual squad leaders under his command, fully intending to secure the area around the crash site.

There was little intel on the immediate situation, though the _Solace's_ mapping telemetry and imaging systems had informed their unit seconds before drop, that in all likelihood the would be deploying into a very active warzone. Yet… it was as silent as a grave.

Orders had already been carried out on the new ROE, to not fire unless fired upon. There was no telling what they were dropping into, and the last thing he wanted was to create an incident with long-term ramifications. The fleet was, at that moment, engaged with the hostile alien force, and he had been handed provisional control from Captain Strikeland for the duration of this operation, which all that really meant was that he had even more responsibility heaped upon his shoulders as he now had the power to make decisions on behalf of the fleet as a whole.

What a blessing.

The dust settled around him as he moved away from his pod, the helljumper's loud breathing the only sound in his ears other than the chatter of his battalion as they went about their duties.

"Major, I've got two bodies here… not human,"

The ODST froze to a halt at the declaration from the leader of second squad, the scenery around him finally visible as a gust of air blew away the remaining debris lingering in the air.

"Scratch that, Sir, more than two."

 _More than two indeed._ He mused as the refuse of a recent battle filled his vison. More than four dozen corpses lay sprawled across the blood soaked field, and the ODST's analytical mind was quick to jot down mental notes, both to reference in the moment and prepare for the ensuing after action report he would inevitably have to file if he were to make it out of this alive.

"Fall out and secure the LZ, and remember, return fire only." Leaving his men to secure the zone and police bodies, he turned back to the carnage around him.

Quick examination placed only three human bodies amidst the biological debris spread haphazardly across the zone, which surprised him. These marines had accounted well for themselves in this scenario. Most marine units took at least a mid-dozen or so casualties in most prolonged engagements and by all intents and purposes they would have been heavily outnumbered in this skirmish. What should have been a massacre appeared to be a rout for the enemy.

However as he took in more detail of the placement of bodies, things did not appear to add up. Experience reaped from years on the battlefield allowed him to view the sight before him in a unique light and with the prospect of combat seeming more and more unlikely; he allocated additional mental processing power towards evaluating the facts that lay before him.

The alien corpses were startlingly humanoid, yet at the same time strangely enough, near polar opposites of a human. The vast majority of these fallen extraterrestrial warriors were not only recognizable, but appeared to be anthropomorphic variations of earthen fauna, both simian and reptilian in nature, though at least an accompanying handful resembled canines and felines. Those few were garbed in different equipment and colors, opposed to the dark black and red accents of the other alien figures, these were covered in bright white and green, leading Liam to believe they were either of an opposing faction or perhaps Special Forces given the fewer number of casualties.

Yet the placement of the bodies was odd, most dropped in what looked like broken defensive positions facing outwards towards the others, as if they had been protecting the corvette's wreckage.

He had no idea what to make of that or any of this. There were things he was missing, pieces to this puzzle that had yet to reveal themselves. There was still not enough data for him to formulate a reliable supposition of what had occurred here, but he had a feeling he would not need to wait long.

"Centurion-Actual to all UNSC assets in the area, requesting situational update. ODST support is on station." The Major broadcasted on a well-known, secured channel, hoping for a response as he watched his battalion work. Despite the awareness that most of his men were inexperienced by ODST standards, they were all still soldiers and took to their tasks with a professionalism that made the man proud.

Comms were bereft of any jokes or laughter as the warriors grimly surveyed and organized their surroundings, neatly piling the corpses in the order of their respective allegiances or suspected fidelities as well as policing weapons and ammunition.

As the ODST commander waited for a response, he reached down and examined one of the unusual weapons left by the deceased aliens. Despite its foreign origin it looked the part for human military hardware, though it had been some centuries since they'd last standardized a non-bullpup rifle frame. Opposed to the gunmetal grey of UNSC gear, it was matte black, like the equipment of most spec-ops units. Liam would know as much, he had been part of a few. The helljumper considered it for only a moment longer before shrugging, clipping the alien rifle onto his tactical webbing and barking out a quick order for his men to follow suit. In the case that their own weapons would prove to be ineffectual, they could at least rely on the high possibility that what these extraterrestrial's left behind would at least work.

After all, ODSTs were nothing if not adaptable.

 _+Centurion-Actual, this is Lieutenant Cutter, acting commander of what forces we have left. I can say it's damn good to hear a friendly voice. We thought we were alone down here.+_

A low sigh of relief went unnoticed on the open channel as the ODST allowed himself a small smile. He was glad to discover that there were not only survivors, but they had a chain of command still in effect. That made the impossible job of retrieving them slightly less unmanageable. "We don't abandon our own, Cutter. My battalion was just deployed from the _Midsummer's Solace_ to provide support and extraction for any survivors we might find. My forces are currently securing the crash site, where are you located?"

 _+Those of us that did not evacuate and survived the crash have holed up in the ships galley, there are around fifty to sixty individuals here, but we have at least a hundred more scattered across fifty kilometers of open desert.+_

Liam frowned.

So much for easier...

 _+That's not all…+_

There was a pause on the line.

 _+We've encountered the… locals.+_

"Yes, I can see that." Liam looked over the corpse riddled battlefield. "Your soldiers performed admirably in repelling the attack. But my men don't have eyes on them."

 _+I had my marines fall back into the ship when they informed me of your descent. There are some… things we need to discuss, off comms.+_

While sounding ominous to the helljumper's ears, he understood that it was a possibility that their comms might already be compromised. And while uncertain if these aliens would understand their language, there was no reason to take a chance on that.

"Copy that, will rendezvous on your position in ten mikes."

Cutting the connection, Liam returned his focus to his men, gesturing towards the elevated cliffs on the side of the wreckage. "Centurion 1-2 and 1-3, set up your heavy gunners and marksman in those rocks. 1-4, I want overlapping lanes of fire around this entrance." He brought his gauntlet towards the breach in the corvette's hull. "2-1 through 2-4, lock this sector down and prep for further orders."

With the swiftness and dedication inherent to veterans of several battles, his soldiers carried out their orders in nigh perfect coordination and unit cohesion as they rapidly split into individual squads to comply. ODSTs were the pride of the UNSC, near perfect soldiers with unparalleled skill and efficiency in comparison to army and marine units. Even Liam found it hard not to admire them despite their shortcomings. He hoped that in the face of their unusual composition and varying levels of experience amidst this particular detachment, that the men and women under his command would prevail.

"Cullen you're with me, let's go meet with the Lieutenant." He flicked his chin towards the open hole in the corvette and the other ODST nodded as he moved to follow. Seeing as Martin was the lowest rank in the command squad, that left Tim as acting commander while he was gone. Amongst the men in his squad, Tim was the most reliable, so he felt comfortable enough with the choice. In any case he certainly was better than Martin. The man didn't have a cool enough head for a command position.

With his subordinate dutifully following in his steps, Liam entered the wreckage to confront the surviving commander of this ragged force.

* * *

 _AN: I hope this update comes as a pleasant surprise for you guys! I've been mulling over this chapter for a good long while now, trying to somehow tie it off. And hopefully I did a good job with it. I have been aware for a little while by the reviews left for First contact that there is still some considerable interest in this story, so I will do my best to keep working on it when I am not busy with my other works and "work", in real life as it were._

 _In other, perhaps more important news, a few weeks ago I started my own (Seems like that word is frowned upon on Fanfction). Seeing as I would like to make myself fully legitimate I decided to give that a try, with the thought in mind that it would suit my particular update style. Currently its a way for me to make some money on the side while I keep on with IRL work, but I hope for it to one day make enough that I can focus entirely on my writing, my greatest passion in life._

 _Additionally,_ _I am using it to make an original choose your own adventurer that has been set in a high fantasy period. And do not worry, I am not asking for money to be a part of it, simply make an account on (still doesn't like it) and from there you can input your votes on current and future decisions that will be made. In its current iteration, I am hoping to sustain an income from "tips" as it were, whatever you guys feel like offering. In the future there will be real rewards offered, perhaps even personal short stories and the like._

 _So I would be eternally grateful if you awesome folk would consider either taking part in the adventure, or offering a little something to keep me running. Seeing as link posting on Fanfiction and mentioning the apparently sinister P word is frowned upon, if you are interested in funding me just look up my name on that particular site, Pat-reon. Just remove the hyphen._

 _For you consideration,_

 _DrakeTheTraveller_


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